


Blurry

by cazflibs



Series: The Ace Chronicles [6]
Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-21
Updated: 2010-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cazflibs/pseuds/cazflibs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set a year before 'Rimmer's Return'. After nine years of being Ace, Rimmer meets a man who will change his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blurry

**Author's Note:**

> Year IX of the 'Ace Chronices'. Contains spoilers for 'Last Human'.
> 
> I always felt that Michael's character in 'Last Human' was ever so slightly two-dimensional, and wanted to give him space to grow. You'll notice, dear readers, that the first chapter covers his background as detailed in the book. But from that point onwards, I break away from that story and create my own dimension's version of events.
> 
> This fic is set two years after 'Only the One' and just under a year before 'Rimmer's Return'.

Lieutenant-Colonel Michael R. McGruder had screwed up.

This wasn't one of those minor errors, like forgetting to take the rubbish out, overcooking a romantic meal, or forgetting your partner's birthday; although these were amongst a catalogue of mistakes that Michael could quite confidently attribute to the downfall of his relationship with his ex-girlfriend, Mercedes. But that hardly mattered now. That was three million years ago, give or take a century or so. Water under the bridge and all that.

No, this was a cock up of epic proportions.

After thousands of years of abuse and pollution by the human race, it had finally been declared that the sun was dying. In layman's terms, it meant that in 400,000 years time, the Milky Way would be as uninhabitable as an Economy Room at the Travelodge in Grimsby. The mission directive of his ship, the SS. Mayflower, had been to take a collection of genetic experiments and creations - simulants, dingotangs, symbi-morphs, snugiraffes, and a host of bacteria and viruses – and, manned by a human crew of fifteen, find a new galaxy for the human race to call home.

At least, that had been the plan.

Every ten thousand years or so, one of the human crew would awaken from Deep Sleep, run a two-day routine check of the ship, the course, and the sleeping cargo, and then return to stasis once more. It all sounded so simple.

The crew had never thought that an electrical storm could knock out some of the power feeds on the ship. They had never thought that this could inadvertently revive some of the most dangerous beings ever to have been created by man's fair hand. And during McGruder's turn to run the checks, he'd made a simple but fatal mistake. He'd forgotten the rule.

Never trust a symbi-morph.

It wasn't long before they had imprisoned him in the holding chamber, leaving the simulants and dingotangs free to escape. The mutiny against the rest of the crew had raged for three days. Then the ship had fallen eerily silent.

McGruder had eventually been freed; beaten, tortured and humiliated by the dingotang crew who delighted in having a human slave to keep as a pet mascot as they journeyed on aimlessly through unchartered space.

And now as he sat locked in the bitter chill of the hold, Lieutenant-Colonel Michael R. McGruder began to wonder where it had all gone tits up.

Perhaps karma had finally caught up with him? After all, the honour of graduating first in his class at West Point Cadet School was unheard of in a man of his upbringing. Raised by a single mother who scraped together a survival for them both on geomapper's wages, his background was hardly considered to be the proper, kosher beginnings for the makings of a good Space Corps Marine. His mother never had the money to give him the latest video games that his friends had. Cadet uniforms were hand-me-downs, text books second hand. But in terms of love, support and encouragement, he'd never gone without.

He'd never known his father. According to his mother, he'd died before Michael had even been born, killed in one of the most notorious JMC disasters in Space Corps history. But despite the fact his father was dead, for Michael he lived on in his dreams and aspirations; a faceless figure who continually inspired him and spurred him on to do better.

McGruder pulled his tattered leather SCM jacket tighter around his broad shoulders and shivered, blinking slowly as his breath clouded hazily before his eyes. When he was a boy, his mother would tuck him up warm and cozy in bed and regale him with stories of his father's bravery and fortitude. And even at that young age, little Michael had promised himself that he would spend every waking moment striving to be just like him.

He'd just returned from fighting in the Hyperion War when the black box from his father's ship touched down in the Pacific Ocean. The details had been sketchy, but they'd discovered that out of a crew of over a thousand, his father had been selected to be resurrected as a hologram. He could only presume it was for the good of the mission, all down to his heroic endeavours from when he was alive.

Signing up for the Mayflower mission had been nothing but empty bravado, he knew that all too well now. It was a wild, foolhardy attempt at emulating the man he could never hope to live up to, a desperate struggle to follow in his father's footsteps. For years, he'd laboured under the misapprehension that he would somehow find him, or at least feel closer to him amongst the distant, sparkling stars. But as he scanned the small, dingy hold, he felt nothing but mortification for his own naivety. Out here it was nothing but eternal blackness.

He would never be a tenth of the man that his father was.

It had been seven days since the mutiny, and his mind swam dizzy with what the dingotangs would do with him once they grew tired with the entertainment his torture could afford. Whatever the process of his demise, the outcome never reached a conclusion that McGruder was entirely happy with. And he certainly wasn't going to sit back and wait for it to happen.

Reaching behind him, he slid out the wrench that he'd stashed in his belt during his last outing, and glanced up at the grate that covered the opening to the air ducts.

He would find his escape, or die trying.

After all, it's what Arnold J. Rimmer would have done.


	2. Illusions

The ancient metal door creaked open with reluctant petulance before clanging loudly against the far wall, sounding its annoyance at being awoken from an otherwise undisturbed sleep. Undisturbed for many decades, Rimmer noted silently as he stepped through the airlock doorway and into the ship, judging by the flurries of dust that the resulting resonation cast out into the flickering shards of the emergency lighting.

His brow furrowed in confusion. Odd.

The looped SOS distress signal that Wildfire had picked up from the SS. Aquarius was weak but still clear in its intent. The ship had been ravaged by simulants who had slaughtered the rest of the crew, and a lone, desperate voice now pleaded for anyone out there to help them reach the nearest colony.

The computer had urged caution. After all, the message could have been a few hours old or a few months old; the static clouding the survivor's face and a corruption in the signal made dating the transmission almost impossible. Rimmer, on the other hand, had insisted that he should check the derelict anyway in order to ascertain whether he could be of any assistance. Although they agreed to disagree, there was one point that the pair had found mutual, unspoken understanding on for many years now.

The survivor was a she. Rimmer hadn't gotten laid in six weeks. Simple enough.

Lonely booted footfall resonated across the walls as he stalked cautiously along the corridor, his hands instinctively hovering millimetres above the guns holstered in his belt. Something wasn't right.

"Computer?" he called out. "Can you hear me?"

The computer's usual smooth, sultry tones offered no response, replaced instead with the echoed return of his own nasal voice. Rimmer sighed. The computer had been experiencing signal problems and comms corruptions for the last couple of hours, which could be the culprit. Either that or she was in a huff with him. Both were fairly plausible.

A distant scream shrieked down the corridor, wrenching Rimmer from his musings. Something definitely wasn't right. Drawing the guns from their holsters, he broke into a run, following the dying echo that faded quickly into eerie silence.

Rimmer skidded to a halt at the entrance of the Storage Bay and immediately noticed the source of the scream. A woman, presumably the one who had made the distress call, sobbed as she struggled to free herself from the simulant that towered above her, gripping her roughly by the cropped, dark locks of her hair.

Rimmer's eyes narrowed as he levelled his aim. "Hey!" he called out angrily.

The simulant didn't have much time to react. By the time he'd whipped back to the sound of Rimmer's voice and shoved the woman to the ground to pull out his gun, a single bullet was already streaking towards him. The droid's head exploded in a flurry of sparks, limbs twitching absently before dropping to the floor, lifeless.

Hastily reholstering his guns, Rimmer raced over to the woman still curled defensively on the floor and dropped to his haunches beside her. His eyes traced the curved silhouette of her hips before tracking up to her face, obscured in shadow by her long, ruffled bangs.

"Hey, are you ok?" he asked softly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

The woman chuckled softly. "Oh, Ace. You know me," she replied smoothly. She raised her head slowly, the bangs slipping back to reveal seductive, violet eyes. "I'm always pleased to see you."

Rimmer's face sagged under the weight of dreaded realisation at the sight of the tell-tale eyes and he scrabbled back hurriedly, watching with mounting horror as the woman stalked towards him on all fours. It had become painfully obvious that this was no survivor in need of rescue, but an all-too familiar symbi-morph he'd hoped he'd never cross paths with again. Tearing his gaze away from her sparkling eyes, his focus dropped to her breasts that snuggled teasingly in her black tank top – a sight no less hypnotic.

"What's the problem?" She pressed teasingly. "I can read your thoughts like a book. You were more than up for it, a few minutes ago – "

"Juno!" Rimmer cut in, anger and frustration registering on the edges of his voice as he fought to keep his 'Ace' tones in check. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"She's with me."

The pair glanced up at the source of the disembodied voice, although its low, harsh tones were immediately recognisable. Sure enough, Pizzak 'Rapp stood above them on the metal gantry, peering down on the pair with ill-concealed contempt.

"Juno!" he called out, in the same manner as one would speak to a small child or dog. Once he'd ensnared her attention, he jerked his head towards the door, indicating her job was done.

Rimmer's face hardened into a scowl as he pulled himself to his feet, hands hovering above his guns once more. Juno reluctantly followed suit, sidling up towards him.

"If he lets you live, look me up, won't you?" she breathed into his ear.

Rimmer felt a chill up his spine as her image rippled with a cold, swift breeze, shifting back into her neutral, black humanoid form. He stiffened visibly, his stare still fixed on the simulant standing above him.

"If he lets you live, I'll finish you off myself," he replied tightly.

A mocking hiss of air whistled through Juno's teeth. "I'll watch my back," she replied smoothly with a playful wink as she brushed past him before slinking out the door.

Rimmer flicked an unamused eyebrow as Pizzak stared back at him. "What do you want?" he huffed impatiently.

The simulant leant forward on the railing. "Mr Rimmer, you know all too well from the last time we met what I want." He flicked absently at the loose paint and rust that curled away from the iron underneath. "I would like nothing more than to torture you to the precipice of unbearable agony until you're begging me to end it for you. Care to join me?"

Rimmer pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. "Interesting proposal, but I think I'll have to pass."

"I'm afraid, Mr Rimmer, you don't have a choice."

The hologram snatched out his guns and snapped his arms up towards Pizzak. "You going to make me?" he challenged with a smug grin, the slides snapping loudly into place to reiterate his point.

"Me?" Pizzak asked playfully, his face splitting into a cheshire cat grin that displayed a row of sharp, jagged teeth. "Oh no. I think I'll leave it to them."

The buzzing of servos interwoven with wicked chuckles emanated from the shadows around him, closely followed by hordes of simulants that crept forth from the darkness. Each was armed with guns trained towards him or brandishing lengths of metal piping salvaged from the derelict as rudimentary weapons.

Rimmer's mouth dropped open as he slowly turned to realise that he was now completely surrounded, his panicked eyes flitting across the lines of guns winking at him in the low lights. Beads of simulated sweat stood out cold on his brow, the guns in his outstretched arms visibly quivering as he fought to keep calm. He had never been fantastic at maths, but even he could work out that seventeen rounds were not going to take out forty, perhaps fifty simulants.

He swallowed hard, his long-dormant expression of dismay uttered in a forgotten voice.

"Oh smeg."

Pizzak's double eyebrow cocked in smug triumph. "Check mate, Mr Rimmer," he announced, linking his fingers and extending his arms lazily until his knuckles sounded a satisfying crack. "Have your fun, gentlemen," he called out to the hordes of snarling simulants with a nod of the head. "But leave him alive so that I can have mine."

Rimmer's grip on his guns tightened along with the scowl on his face, his flaming anger fanned by a combination of Pizzak's arrogance and his own stupidity at such a dangerous mistake. He swivelled carefully to survey the simulants gradually closing in on him; their faces split with murderous grins as they stalked closer. Although his trigger finger twitched nervously, he resisted the urge to fire first. Each bullet was sacred, affording him precious seconds of defence before things turned really nasty.

He waited.

The anticipation was swiftly broken as a lone simulant leapt forward, brandishing his lead pipe above his head ready to strike. Artificial adrenalin seethed through Rimmer's projection as he let instinct take over; his right arm quickly aligning towards the simulant's head and his itchy trigger finding its release. The bullet blasted through the bitterly cold air and tore through a mix of metal and organic matter. There was a clatter of iron as the pipe fell to the floor, followed by the simulant itself, which instantly shut down and collapsed to the floor.

Chaos erupted, the air thick with the sounds of angry, rallying cries and gunfire. Rimmer whipped around continuously to return fire, dodging some bullets as they squealed past his face and arms, whilst others carved white-hot streaks across his skin or thudded mercilessly into his chest and back. His vision blurred with simulants as the pain responses from his light bee kicked in with a vengeance, clambering for attention against the surge of adrenaline.

Silence descended once more as he stopped, yet his world continued to spin. His shoulders heaved with effort to suck in the breath that he didn't need, his image flickering in and out of focus like a bad TV reception as he fought to stay on his feet. As the smoke curled up lazily into the flickering lights, two hollow clangs sounded by Rimmer's boots as the two spent cartridges fell to the ground.

"What are you waiting for?" Pizzak cried, his distorting voice echoing around the Storage Bay. "He's unarmed! Get him!"

As the simulants rushed forward to take him down, Rimmer's features retreated into a primal snarl. He wasn't entirely unarmed.

Flipping back the guns in his hands so that the barrels steadied themselves against his slick palms, he locked eyes with the nearest simulant snarling towards him and cracked the sturdy steel of the handle as hard as he was physically able across its jaw. He did the same with another, and another as his desperation rose, fighting back the inevitable until he was grabbed from behind, arms pinned by his sides by an inhumanly strong grip.

A trio of simulants before him seized upon the opportunity quickly, beating him hard in the stomach and across the face with the butts of their guns in earnest. With an audible growl, Rimmer braced his weight against the simulant holding him fast and pushed his feet off the ground to kick out with steel-capped boots, sending them sprawling back into the crowd. A forcible shoulder throw sent his captor tumbling into the tangle of metallic limbs on the floor.

With distressed static ringing in his ears, Rimmer staggered back weakly to regain equilibrium, his pulsing sight just about registering his arms as they flashed in and out of focus in his peripheral vision. He knew that his light bee had taken a lot of damage from the gunfire earlier, and now struggled to avoid shut down. If he lost consciousness now, he'd lose everything.

Without warning, a hot bolt of pain lanced up and down his spine, locking his body in a painful, electric shock. The melting puddle that remained of his mind at first swore blind that he was being tasered. But he then noticed beyond the blue flashes his vision had now become that the hordes of simulants surrounding him seemed to be suffering the same affliction; all buzzing, twitching and writhing in mutual agony.

He grit his teeth involuntarily as he screwed his eyes shut, his ears screeching with an unbearable sound akin to electronic feedback at a rock concert; a noise that seemed to not only resonate in his ears but through his skull, cutting off all coherent thought. He was vaguely aware of collapsing to the floor.

His awareness kicked hard to surface above the thick darkness of unconsciousness enough to hear fragments of a voice calling to him urgently, before falling blissfully back into its depths.

" – hear me? The name's Michael McGruder. I've come to help y– "


	3. McGruder

McGruder.

The name swirled in the buzzing static of the darkness.

He'd dated a girl called McGruder once, during his first lifetime when he was still alive.

Yvonne. The woman with the computer-blue eyes.

They'd never spoken, but sometimes caught each other's eye as they passed one another in corridors or across the canteen at lunchtimes; her gaze locking with his with a brief yet charged energy that seemed to have the ability to turn him inside out.

Then one afternoon after he'd finished his shift, he caught the same lift as her. His heart had leapt at the opportunity, and rather than his usual, tongue-freezing terror when he tried to speak to pretty women, the words had tumbled out easily. Perhaps not the best chosen opening by all accounts; pointing out the white bandage wrapped around her head, and asking if she was Buddhist or something? He'd been inwardly horrified at his idiotic first line, but rather than the knock-back he'd been expecting, she'd laughed. And not a dismissive laugh at him, but a warm laugh that she invited him to share.

She'd explained how a piece of machinery had fallen on her head from a great height, which had given her a concussion, but she had made a full recovery. Encouraged by her openness, he'd offered some small talk, and she'd responded fondly, explaining shyly that she found him rather charming.

He was still reeling from the shock when she coquettishly invited him to dinner in her quarters that night.

It was a truly amazing night. In more ways than one.

Lister had dismissed it of course, taunting that she'd only slept with him thinking he was a guy called 'Norman'. And after a couple of days, he'd begun to submit to the doubts himself, wondering whether if they were indeed true. So he set out to prove to himself that Lister was wrong.

He wouldn't call her.

If she really cared about him, she would re-establish contact, set another date and prove Lister wrong.

She never called.

Apart from sharing the odd polite nod as they passed one another in the corridor, they never spoke again. And three months after their night together, she left Red Dwarf on shore leave at Miranda and didn't return.

He never saw her again.

But a long time had passed since then. Three million years, give or take a few. His caterpillar self had died in the accident, and he'd spent six years cocooned with the ragtail survivor crew from Hades itself, before being reborn as Ace. He'd become the butterfly he'd always hoped he'd be.

As the darkness drew back and his awareness began to awaken, Rimmer instinctively took stock of his surroundings before opening his eyes. A distant, thumping hum of engines indicated that he was on a craft far larger than Wildfire. He realised he was lying on a hard, creaking bed; his fingers curling up experimentally against a scratchy woollen blanket before dragging up to clutch his forehead. He had one cracker of a headache, similar to the self-inflicted hangover after his death day celebrations all those years ago.

He opened his eyes, immediately wincing at the bright, harsh white light that needled its way mercilessly past his eyelids. His mind began to slowly dripfeed images and sensations as he scrabbled to piece together what had happened and where he was.

Simulants. Gunfire. Electrocuted.

His eyes darted about the small room - a ramshackle medibay littered with papers, snaking wires and surgical equipment. Whatever the simulants had planned for him, it didn't look overly fun. Panicked, he stumbled from the bed, his quivering legs immediately buckling, struggling to keep him on his feet. His entire image seemed to buzz white-hot with fatigue, his sensations feeling dull and weak. Whatever had knocked him out, he'd never experienced anything as powerful or overwhelming like it.

Rimmer staggered across to the rusty, metal door and hammered at the keypad to unlock. The light buzzed red in the negative. He tried again desperately, only to be greeted with the same rejection.

He was locked in.

He thumped the door angrily with an audible growl. How could he have made such a stupid, dangerous mistake? It wasn't as if he'd had nine years to learn these things or anything like that, he berated himself inwardly with his old, sarcastically snide voice.

It was then that he heard it. Frowning, he pressed his ear to the door. A lone set of footsteps were approaching, striding purposefully down the corridor towards him.

Hurriedly pushing himself back from the door, his hands instinctively reached for the guns in his belt, but instead met the khaki of his trousers. Glancing down in a panic, he quickly patted himself down, as if he may have missed a secretly stashed weapon that the simulants may have most kindly left on his person. No such luck.

With the footsteps getting closer, he swivelled behind him to the tray of surgical instruments that lay on the table by the bed. Snatching at the most lethal looking scalpel, he hurried back to press himself up against the wall beside the door and steadied himself.

As the footsteps stopped on the other side of the door, Rimmer tightened his grip around the cold metal handle of the scalpel. Whichever simulant was on shift tonight was not going to finish it alive.

*****************

McGruder rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm, letting a lazy yawn stretch from his mouth as he made his way down the winding maze of corridors. It had been one hell of a long day, he capitulated. He'd barely stopped since rescuing the stranger from the SS. Aquarius after picking up the distress signal. He'd barely stopped since he'd escaped from his old ship all those years ago.

Maybe he was getting too old for this. After all, despite having the appearance of a man almost 30 years old, he'd lived for just over 200, thanks to his distinct lack of the ageing gene. All Mayflower human crewmembers had had this core part of their DNA removed before they'd set out on their epic mission. The Space Corps had made one correct assumption amongst their list of cock-ups: there would be little hope of recruiting new staff in the depths of unchartered space.

McGruder's interest in this lone traveller had been piqued when he'd picked up his craft - a small, red, one-main ship called the Wildfire - on making their escape from the Aquarius, programming its mainframe to follow his own ship's navigation network. He'd heard the stories passed down from person to person over the centuries - the undefeated, immortal man who travelled across time and space, defending the human race from extinction, appearing and disappearing in a flare of flame.

If indeed this was him, then the reality seemed far removed from the legend. As McGruder raced his ship back to the Colony to save him, he found himself glancing over to the co-pilot seat, where the immortal deity suddenly seemed oh-so very mortal. The cockpit resonated with a flickering white light, as the unconscious man's image pulsed in and out of focus, as if fighting to stay alive.

The only thing to shatter the entire illusion was the small, electronic device that buzzed weakly inside his now transparent projection. McGruder was suddenly all too aware who or what this man was.

And as McGruder reached the door to the makeshift medibay, he punched in the security code with trepidation.

He just hoped that he was still alive.

As the rusty metal door slid open with a reluctant, squeaking hiss, McGruder instantly noticed that the bed was no longer occupied. In the same instance, he noticed a tall, shadowy figure suddenly lunge towards him with a glaring flash of metal.

Luckily for McGruder, the Space Corps Marine training still coursed through his veins, despite the hundreds of thousands of years that had elapsed since his time on Earth. Instinct kicked in, and he quickly dodged the blade's fatal trajectory before securing a tight grip on his attacker's wrist.

The man's face looked bemused for a moment, before snarling in pain as McGruder twisted his wrist awkwardly and shoved him back hard against the wall, beating the man's hand repeatedly against the metal grating until the scalpel fell begrudgingly to the ground with a tinny clatter.

Both men were left panting for breath. It was a few moments before the silence was broken.

"You're human," the man said distantly.

McGruder treated him to a raised eyebrow before releasing him reluctantly.

"And you're in dire need of a refresher course in Social Skills," he shot back.

The man scowled back at him, his dark eyes dropping to the hand rubbing his wrist. McGruder expelled a cleansing sigh.

"Tea or coffee then?"


	4. Alliances

Rimmer stared down at the gloopy, black substance in his mug that was haphazardly trying to pass itself off as coffee. His lip curled involuntarily, unsure whether to drink it or attempt to use it to fuel Wildfire.

The man turned back to face him, clutching a mug of his own, and caught the dubious look on Rimmer's face.

"How embarrassing. You've caught me before I had a chance to pop to the corner shop," he announced breezily. "Fresh out of Darjeeling tea and Cappuccino mix, I'm afraid."

Rimmer's eyes narrowed as the man smirked into his mug. Although his tone seemed jovial enough, Rimmer was a self-made expert on the art of sarcasm, and this gentleman before him was definitely a snide Van Gogh in the making.

"Drink up," the man urged. "Soon you'll be well on your way to recovery."

He flashed him a friendly wink that shook loose a flurry of memories; old and somehow just out of reach. He growled inwardly. He was supposed to be playing the hero, not Hank Handsome here. Yet his confident attitude and friendly banter made him feel like his old, cowardly self once more.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rimmer spotted an old, weather-beaten jacket hung carefully over the back of the chair. He checked the rank on his arm. An SCM. That explained everything.

Rimmer had always hated Space Corps Marines. They were the type of people who heroically swept back their perfectly blonde hair from their perfectly blue eyes, announcing "Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast!" before dashing off on some damn fool suicide mission.

Rimmer stopped himself mid-rant. Hmm. Pot, kettle, black?

But he was different. He wasn't genuinely like that. He was simply pretending to be like that for the sake of continuity. He was the type who loved staying in on a Friday night, sipping a glass of Claret and playing another round of Risk.

Was.

Rimmer could see now why his predecessors had all relished the chance to become Ace. He had to admit, it felt like such a release after years of repression; using his near-indestructible hard-light body to throw himself into the deepest, darkest depths of trouble was so much more exciting than being cooped up in the same ship, day after day, year after year.

As Rimmer glanced back up to the man before him, something made his heart stop for a fleeting moment. He'd half-turned to rustle through some papers on the table beside him when Rimmer caught the outline of his profile. Something jarred in him again. This guy really reminded him of someone, like a strange case of déjà vu. With his wheat-coloured hair and clear green eyes, this man before him seemed like an echo of someone he once knew.

The man caught his look and nodded towards the cup. "Come on then," he chided warmly. "You going to drink that or just stare at it?"

Rimmer blinked. John. He reminded him of his brother, John.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. The whole over-familiarity and hero-playing wasn't sitting with him overly well. Rimmer placed the untouched mug on the table beside the bed and stood to leave.

"Look - "

"McGruder."

Rimmer paused. "Look, McGruder. I appreciate the erm - " he glanced back down to the mug. He was going to say 'coffee' but stopped himself. That really didn't seem the right word. "But I really don't need your help."

"Of course you don't need my help," McGruder reiterated thoughtfully with a distant nod. He slowly raised his coffee for a second slurp, an unimpressed eyebrow flicking above the rim. "I remember vividly how you kicked some serious arse when it came to those simulants," he added with a mumble into the mug.

It had been many years since the days Lister would bait him with simple yet effective lyrical traps. But old habits die hard, and Rimmer fell hook, line and sinker.

He scowled. "I was - " Rimmer snapped in his old, snide tone, before catching himself with a less-than-subtle clearing of the throat. "I was doing perfectly fine, thank you very much, until - " he tailed off, trying desperately to recall what had indeed happened. His face sagged, not quite able to sustain the dirty look he was shooting in McGruder's direction. "Erm - "

"Ah, the shock, you mean?" McGruder's eyebrows knotted awkwardly as he examined his zealously over-polished boots. "That was my fault, I'm afraid. I had to resort to EDD's help."

Rimmer blinked. "Ed?"

"EDD - Electronic Deactivation Device." McGruder pulled out a small, black device, no larger than a remote control, from his utility belt and proffered it to Rimmer, who eyed it carefully.

"My own invention," he explained. "Although, it's painfully crude to the point of Blue Peter levels of simplicity, it can have a seriously devastating effect. Basically, it creates a power surge in all electronic life-forms, temporarily disabling them." He grinned happily to himself as he tossed and caught it playfully, an overly jockish act that rubbed Rimmer up worse than an intimate massage with a tube of Deep Heat. "This baby has got me out of more than one scrape, I can tell you. It's fried simulants, droids - "

Rimmer snatched the device at the apex of its flight. "Holograms?!" he offered, incredulous.

McGruder flashed an awkward smile. "Evidently, yes," he admitted.

Rimmer tightened his grip on the device in his hand, a notch below the pressure needed to crush it beyond repair. "You could have killed me!" he hissed through gritted teeth.

"And those simulants would have killed you if I'd have left you to it!" McGruder snapped back, reigning back some choice words. "I thought it was the lesser of two evils." He leant back against the counter behind him. "Besides, the SOS was from a human ship. What was I supposed to think when I saw you? And second case in point, you don't seem to have the, well - " He trailed off awkwardly and tapped his forehead with his finger.

Rimmer felt a wrench of embarrassment. He'd always hated the way he'd been branded with an 'H' for so many years of his death. Although the past nine years as Ace had allowed him to shed it, its mark still felt like it was branded on him.

"Well surely there are other holograms out there that don't have the same mark?" he probed.

"Let's just say humans and holograms don't mix well," McGruder raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't know."

Rimmer's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"

The grin fell from McGruder's face as he stared at him strangely. "Have you even visited this dimension recently? I know the last rumoured sighting of the 'Ace' or 'Alpha' in this sector was hundreds of years ago but - "

"Holograms and humans don't get on?" Rimmer ventured.

McGruder snorted. "That's like saying holograms and simulants 'don't get on'. Understatement of the century." Catching Rimmer's confused look, he continued. "The holograms and simulants have been locked in some stupid war for centuries. They've got plenty of reasons not to get on. Simulants love to try and kill the un-killable. Holograms are legendarily arrogant, and don't want any other species getting in the way when it comes to their quest to get to the top of the food-chain so to speak."

Rimmer grimaced. He remembered all too well from his encounter with the SSS Enlightenment what a bunch of arrogant, pompous entities they all were. Well, bar one…

"They've even been known to ransack derelicts and restore more holograms to help shore up the numbers in the war. Like pawns I suppose."

Rimmer shook his head loosely, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. "You're right. It has been a while."

McGruder dropped his voice to a whisper. "So you might want to keep the fact you're really a hologram to yourself. The others might not be so enamoured with you if they find out."

Rimmer blinked in shock. "Others?"

McGruder nodded but didn't elaborate. "But before I do, I've got to say it. There's one thing I need to know. If 'Ace' the legendary, immortal man and protector of the human race is actually not one of us," he paused, "what other secrets could you be hiding?"

Rimmer frowned. "I'm not hiding anything. What makes you think I mean you any harm?"

McGruder nodded thoughtfully before swivelling back to rummage through the cupboards behind his knees. When he turned back to face him, Rimmer froze. His eyes dropped down to the all-too-familiar guns in his hands and then back up to McGruder warily, waiting in silent expectation.

McGruder chewed over the prospect as he too surveyed the guns. "You see, I've never trusted people I've run into that were so artfully armed." He turned them over in his hands, glancing down the sights experimentally. "They either tend to be the type of people who go looking for trouble - " McGruder regarded him suspiciously through hooded eyes. " - or that trouble always seems to follow them around."

Rimmer maintained his gaze wordlessly. After a thoughtful pause, McGruder placed the guns and belt onto the table beside them with a relenting sigh.

"Let's just hope you don't fall into either category."

As McGruder turned to shrug on his jacket, Rimmer quickly slipped on the gun belt. When he glanced back up, McGruder was waiting for him at the now open door with a distant smile.

"Welcome to the Colony. Let me show you around."


	5. Revelations

Even though he wasn't technically alive, Rimmer could only describe the Colony as breathtaking.

McGruder had led him along the corridor and out onto a gantry to survey the hive of activity that buzzed below. Men, women and children of all shapes and sizes were going about their everyday business, the recycled air sweet with the sounds of talk and laughter. Rimmer couldn't help but smile. Even three million years into deep space, the human race still clung resolutely to existence.

Descending the staircase, Rimmer ran an experimental hand along the metal of the walls. Old panels had been beaten and welded together to form the structure before him. In fact - Rimmer's eyes swivelled to take in the expansive dome-like structure of his surroundings - the entire ship seemed to be etched in metals of different colours, ages and shapes. As if they hadn't created together, more so, brought together.

He turned to face McGruder, the question apparently already clear in his eyes.

"We've used all sorts of materials from our old ships and derelicts to create the Colony," McGruder explained proudly. He turned to survey the community below, a weary yet content smile surfacing on his handsome features. "It may not be pretty, but it's home."

Rimmer shook his head in distant wonder, glancing down below to watch a group of boys kicking about an old, weather-beaten football between them, their raucous game spilling into the path of a pair of middle-aged men who were trying to paint the far wall. A precious pot of paint hurriedly rescued from decorating the floor, Rimmer could only distantly make out the men's curses as they hurried them away, met with the amused giggles from the trio of women sat scrubbing some clothes nearby.

This was the human side of humanity. The wonderfully chaotic yet simple pleasures of community spirit that he and Lister had long forgotten in their years stranded together. In his home dimension, they had been the only two humans left in existence. In this dimension it seemed, Fate had dealt the human race a second chance, which they were living with relish.

"It's amazing," Rimmer conceded. He shook his head with disbelieving joy, unable to take it in. "This must have taken decades - "

"Took me almost 74 years to complete and I've been bringing survivors here for over 160 years," McGruder cut in. "My pride and joy." He slowed momentarily on the stairs to snatch a look over his shoulder at the bemused expression he already knew to be inevitably plastered on Rimmer's face.

Once he'd regained his faculties, Rimmer realised his mouth was gawping so openly he could catch flies. He closed it with a less than subtle cough. "Now either my maths has gone completely to pot," he mused slowly, "or you're taking the piss."

A grin emerged from under wisps of wheat-coloured hair.

Rimmer blinked, casting his eyes over the man's face. He didn't look a day over thirty. "Seriously, how old are you?" he pressed.

McGruder tutted coquettishly. "Such an impertinent question so early on in our date," he teased. "And unfortunately there isn't really a straightforward answer." His green eyes flitted up as if playfully trying to recall a time he knew all too well. "Not counting stasis? About 213 years old. From my date of birth?" He cocked an eyebrow with a sad sigh as he turned back to descend the stairs once more. "Too long."

Rimmer nodded distantly as he watched him go. He knew that feeling all too well.

As the pair reached the ground level, the hustle and bustle slowed and then stopped as all attention towards them. Excited whispers began to flit across the crowds like ripples across the surface of a lake. Embarrassed, Rimmer offered them a cursory nod.

"Evening," he chuckled awkwardly.

McGruder slowed to fall in line with Rimmer's step. "Sorry," he mumbled as they began to make their way through the reams of people now watching them intently. "As you can imagine, it's been a while since we've had anyone visit. Newcomers always create a bit of a buzz." He swept his gaze across the bemused faces with a meaningful look that diffused the interest immediately, and they returned to their business just as swiftly.

"It's ok. I've had to get used to being stared at to be honest." Rimmer capitulated. "I guess there's not that many of us out there any more. On some worlds, seeing a human wandering through a trading post is like witnessing a T-Rex ambling down Oxford Street. Not exactly an everyday occurrence."

McGruder snorted in amusement. "True," he conceded, as he edged his way around a large cooking vat.

Rimmer followed, glancing gingerly into the bubbling contents of the vat; most likely some form of porridge. The dark brunette stirring slowly with a metal ladle swept back her hair and smiled at him warmly through the steam that curled up from the pot. Flashing back a smile of his own, he caught up to McGruder's purposeful stride.

McGruder cast a glance over his shoulder. "I know we don't have much," he explained. "It's been nine months since the last derelict showed up and it's really dire on the food supplies front. Even the Pot Noodles have long been eaten."

Rimmer shuddered involuntarily. Dire indeed.

He turned back to survey the people of the Colony. They were even utilising old crew uniforms for clothing; the children dressed in oversized ragged shirts, emblazoned with the Space Corps insignia, pulled in at the waist with old leather belts. They may be living simple lives and making do with whatever they could salvage, but they were happy nonetheless.

"Hang on," Rimmer began, a sudden thought occurring. "What do you mean, 'since the last derelict showed up'? You said this Colony has existed for 160 years. Surely you would have exhausted all of the derelicts in this sector decades ago?" he ventured. "Derelicts don't just show up out of the blue."

McGruder shrugged. "In this sector they do," he replied simply, before adding, "Long story."

*************

Music blared out from the Landing Bay, echoing across the cold, lonely walls as the pair stooped under the shuttered door.

A grin immediately split Rimmer's face. "Wildfire!"

The small red ship sat silently in expectation before them, flickering flashes and sparks illuminating its metal underbelly.

McGruder folded his arms. "As if you could think I could leave such a beauty with the SS Aquarius?" he replied, almost offended. "Ron's been babysitting for you." He swivelled back to Wildfire, stifling a giggle at the disembodied legs sticking out from under the ship's belly, tapping in beat to the heavy bass music. "Hey, Morby!" he hollered, followed by a sharp whistle.

The sparks fell into darkness and the mechanic slid out from underneath Wildfire's belly to meet them with a grin. "Hey!" he called back over the din. "Off!" and the music obeyed, cutting instantly to leave Rimmer's ears ringing.

McGruder smiled as he approached with echoing footsteps. "First Technician Ron Morby," he announced. "Best bloody mechanic this galaxy has seen in centuries, and I can vouch for that."

Ron wiped his oil-slicked hands on the ancient rag he always kept in his pocket – a cloth that outnumbered all 48 of his years – and shook Rimmer firmly by the hand.

"Nice to meet you, son," he smiled.

Rimmer cocked an eyebrow with a warm chuckle. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I must have at least three million years on you, you know."

McGruder flashed him a strange look before continuing. "Ron this is – "

"McGruder, come on, everyone knows who this is!" Ron cut in jovially. "With a gorgeous craft like this one? You must be Ace."

Rimmer offered a courteous nod. "Indeed."

Ron cocked his head back to Wildfire. "She was in bad nick though – the main drive had taken a battering but it seems fine now. Looks like you had a bit of a rough ride hitting this dimension." He ruffled a hand through his muss of retreating copper hair. "The onboard mainframe is in a bit of a flap."

"Sounds about right," Rimmer snorted, giving Ron a friendly slap on the back as he passed, eager to check out the situation for himself. "Thanks fella. Better see if the old girl is OK."

The glass hood of Wildfire slid back graciously as Rimmer hauled himself up onto the wing and gingerly clambered into the cockpit. He sat in silence, tapping his fingers on the armrest, awaiting the inevitable.

"Go on then," he eventually sighed in his old voice. "I know you're itching to, so you might as well get it over and done with."

The dashboard rippled thoughtfully with green and white lights for a moment. "I did warn you," she replied curtly.

"Oh indeed you did," Rimmer rolled his eyes as he sank down into the cool folds of the leather pilot seat. "Ad infinitum."

"You could have been killed!"

"Again."

The dashboard lights hardened from green to red and Rimmer bit back a smirk.

"This Morby chap seems to reckon the DJ drive took a bit of a beating," he started with the grating of gears. "It was a pretty rough jaunt – presumably what knocked out the comms when we first arrived. Also probably why I can't seem to hear you in here anymore." Rimmer tapped his temple with his forefinger.

"My comms links are still down," she replied, relenting. "You're free of my 'mother hen-clucking' for a while," she added with a sulk.

Rimmer ran a soothing hand across the console. "I'll miss you. Promise."

"Hmm."

Stretching his crossed legs out onto the console, Rimmer linked his fingers behind his head and leant back, deep in thought. "Here's a riddle to keep you busy whilst you self-repair," he mused distantly. "Despite your forever-perfect navigation calculations, somehow we get pulled unwillingly into this dimension. And this head honcho SCM here," he huffed over the words with a hint of resentment, "seems to reckon that this Colony has survived for 160 years as derelicts keep mysteriously showing up, bringing a continual stream of both food supplies and new survivors." He raised an eyebrow. "Coincidence?"

The computer's modem ticked over the premise. "Could be a dimension skid?" she offered.

"A weak point between realities?" He chewed over the prospect. "He also talked about wormholes appearing and disappearing randomly. But strangely, the skids and wormholes all seem to be feeding into this point in time and space specifically."

"Precisely my theory," the computer replied silkily. "They seem to be bringing together stranded fragments of the human race."

Rimmer blinked. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that the Universe is trying to save the human race by bringing together what's left of it?" He shook his head. "But dimension skids and wormholes are naturally occurring phenomenon - a Universe can't plan what to put where for the sake of karma, surely?"

The white lights rippled across the console as the computer sighed wistfully. "Still so much to learn," she muttered to herself.

"Hey, Wonderboy!"

Rimmer glanced out of the open cockpit to see McGruder standing below, arms folded. Rimmer scowled inwardly. And why, pray tell, did the Universe want him to meet this cocky little git so badly?

Ron mopped his brow with the same greasy rag. "McGruder tells me you haven't met my missus yet?" he called out.

Rimmer shook his head. "Can't say I've had the pleasure," he replied smoothly.

The pair below exchanged knowing glances. "Well when you meet her," Ron grinned wryly, "you'll realise what a shy and blushing rose she is."

***********

Senior Medical Officer Eleanor Morby was known as 'Ellie' to her friends. And seeing as she served as friend, confidant and mother hen to all on the Colony, Ellie's full name and Space Corps rank had been long forgotten.

"DAH-LING!"

Rimmer jumped visibly at the Derbyshire accent that boomed operatically forth from the short, partridge-like woman before him. She waddled up to him eagerly, arms thrust outwards in an unbridled gesture of love and affection and pulled all six-feet of his height down to hug his head into her warm, matronly bosom.

"We've heard so much about you," she gushed, stroking at the soft, blonde locks of his wig. "It's such a pleasure."

McGruder couldn't help but smirk as he stood back, arms folded, to witness the famous immortal deity bent-double, immobilised by a hug. He watched as Rimmer blinked in astonishment, his fingers wiggling as they hovered, uncertain what to do. He was most likely trying to return the gesture; yet from where McGruder was standing they merely seemed to have access to body parts it was only acceptable to publicly grab on a matron in a Benny Hill sketch.

"The pleasure's all mine," he replied instead; the formality slightly marred by the fact his voice mumbled from the soft warmth of this stranger's bosom.

Ellie caught the mocking sneer on McGruder's face. "And what are you grinning at, mister?" she challenged, releasing Rimmer reluctantly. "You may have lived for centuries but you're never too old for a hug, you hear?"

She waddled over to the desk, brushing away loose files and papers that her impeccable mind had no need for. Gathering up a pair of mugs, she thrust them into McGruder's chest. "Here. Why don't you make yourself useful and go and make the tea?"

Shocked, yet with a distant smile, McGruder offered her a playful salute. "Yes, ma'am!" he replied jokingly, catching Rimmer's eye before heading out of the door, mugs in hand.

Ellie thumped herself down gratefully on one of the MediBay beds before tapping the blanket beside her. "Come on darling, come and sit," she instructed, and Rimmer readily followed suit. "As cheeky as that McGruder is, I'm sure he's been looking after you well."

Rimmer nodded wordlessly. Even though it didn't sit well with him, he had to admit that he owed the guy at least that gesture.

Ellie smiled warmly. "He's such a good man. Worked so hard over the years to bring us all here." She shoulder-bumped him playfully. "It's how I met my Ron."

Rimmer smiled back. "I met him just now. He seems nice."

Ellie quickly shook her head, her fading dark curls bouncing wildly. "Oh but listen to me harping on about myself." She ran a hand blindly under the bed before pulling out a small, battered tin. "What brings you here to us? There hasn't been a sighting of you in hundreds of years and now here you are."

"Here I am," Rimmer echoed. He really wasn't sure why he was here, beyond revelling in the company of normality and humankind once more.

Ellie nodded understanding, as if she'd read more into what he'd said. "This is my little secret," she whispered, gesturing to the tin sitting in her lap. Pulling off the lid to reveal a half-eaten bar of dark chocolate nestled inside, she broke off a couple of squares and offered one to Rimmer.

Rimmer stared at it silently aghast, as if a beggar on the street had just offered him a thousand dollar-pounds. His mind's eye couldn't drag itself away from the rest of the Colony surviving on bowls of simple porridge when he didn't even need to eat.

"I can't - " he mumbled.

But Ellie shook her head firmly. "Trust me. Every single man, woman and child on this Colony has enjoyed a bite of chocolate from my stash at least once." She gestured once more with the precious square. "I'd be insulted if you didn't."

Relenting, Rimmer accepted. It might have been a small gesture, but the meaning was immense. He'd spent so many years during his time as Ace giving his time and energy for the sake of others, that he'd long forgotton his natural instinct for selfish thought.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The pair ate in silence for a few moments.

"So that's my little secret," Ellie began slowly. "Now what's yours?"

Rimmer glanced up, his chew slowing as his panic rose. Yet Ellie seemed quite nonchalant, not even returning his gaze as she continued to eat.

"Secret?" he asked cautiously.

Ellie nodded. "You've been travelling for so long," she began. "But you can't have started that way." She took another thoughtful nibble. "Call me a non-believer but I don't agree with the myths that you were born from the fire of Time itself," she smiled warmly.

Rimmer returned a smile of his own. "Right," he replied, non-committal.

"So?" Ellie pressed gently. "When were you born? Where are you from?"

Rimmer regarded her through one eye. He'd only just met her, but through her warmth and honesty she seemed to have a distinct knack for eking out what she needed from people to trust her.

"I was born on Io," he found himself saying. "A long time ago. Three million years."

This didn't seem to faze Ellie; instead she gave a comprehending nod. "My cousin studied on Io. A tad later than you, I hasten to add, give or take a thousand years or so."

"Did she know a teacher called Mr Smith?" he replied teasingly, a chuckle spilling forth unchecked.

Ellie's smile grew wider. "See now that's nice, seeing you laugh." She patted his hand reassuringly. "It sounds like you haven't done that in a long time."

Rimmer's smile faded slightly at the edges. She was right. It had been a long time.

Instinctively sensing the change in mood, Ellie moved on. "Now correct me if I'm wrong, but I highly doubt that your parents were cruel enough to call you 'Ace'."

Rimmer snorted to himself. 'Ace', no. 'Cruel'? Understatement.

"Did you have a real name once?" Ellie asked openly. "Can you still remember it?"

Rimmer could remember it alright, although he'd shed it long ago. Saying it now still felt like he was talking about a different person; a man no longer himself.

"Rimmer," he said simply. "Arnold J. Rimmer."

A loud crash sounded outside the open door; the sound of shattered ceramic. Startled, the pair exchanged glances before Rimmer crossed to the doorway to peer outside.

Scrabbling to hide her precious metal tin, Ellie called over from beside the bed. "What was it, darling?"

On the metal-grated flooring lay two broken mugs, the remnants of hot tea dripping through the gaps to the level below. The pair that McGruder had taken earlier.

Rimmer shook his head distantly. "Nothing," he mumbled thoughtfully. "Just the kids I think."

*********

Hiding in the shadows along the corridor, McGruder watched, trembling visibly, as the man before him retreated back into the MediBay.

Arnold J. Rimmer. The immortal deity.

His father.


	6. Echoes

A night and a day had passed since Rimmer's talk with Ellie, and the evening had drawn in once more; the bright, white lights of the ship's daytime sinking back into the eerie blue glow of night. Now that the glare had dimmed, Rimmer could make out the twinkling of the distant stars through the glass dome of the ship's roof as he crossed the abandoned central square of the Colony. As pretty as the eternal night was, he did miss the beautiful simplicity of the sunsets he'd so taken for granted during his life on Io.

Drawing up a wooden crate as an improvised seat and making himself comfortable in the soothing quiet, Rimmer pulled the screwdriver from between his teeth and set to work on the radio transmitter he'd brought with him. The computer had sounded rather twitchy at not being able to speak with him electronically through his light bee ever since the debacle with the failed comms unit, so Rimmer had soothed her temporarily by promising to try and fix an old radio transmitter he'd found in the dusty hold of Wildfire.

The transmitters were once used by the human Aces that had preceded him in order to keep in touch with the mother hen-clucking mainframe. However, it had been at least 100 years since the last human incarnation of Ace – and as lasting as his own image was, this ever-aging technology was not faring so well. Half of the screws seemed to be missing and the wiring was completely shot. He'd been making feeble attempts to resurrect it for the last forty minutes, and he was rapidly losing patience.

As a tiny screw pinged away and skittered across the deck making the umpteenth bid for freedom, an involuntary growl dragged from Rimmer's throat.

"Argh! Stupid piece of sh - "

The last word spluttered and died in his mouth as he suddenly noticed that he was being watched. A pair of young women in their late twenties stood in the doorway of a sleeping quarters to his left. The brunette with the cropped bob bit back a smirk. The blonde with bounding curls blinked twice, clutching a small boy, about a year old.

Rimmer's eyes flitted down to the tiny child and then back up to the pair, swiftly shifting his language to PG.

" – junk?" he offered, his cheeks flushing red.

The women giggled at his embarrassment and swiftly returned to their hushed conversation. Yet the toddler in the blonde's arms wriggled and grizzled, tired of their talk and impatient to be let free, and she gently lowered him to the ground, allowing him to clutch her fingers to gain equilibrium. Rimmer smiled to himself under the wisps of his fringe before returning to his work.

Fishing up the screw from the floor, he sighed at the mess of wires and plastic in his lap. A master of weaponry and combat he may be after his nine years of training, his mechanical skills still left little to be desired. He was just as hopeless as he was back as a technician during his Red Dwarf days. The only hope for this radio transmitter now was a retirement as a rather decorative paperweight.

"Corin, wait!"

Rimmer glanced up. It looked as though the little boy had made a break for freedom of his own as he toddled excitedly over towards him with gleeful enthusiasm, his mother desperately rushing after him having realised far too late his path of intent.

With his last few approaching steps becoming shaky yet more determined than ever, the little boy collapsed resolutely into Rimmer's lap, propping himself unsteadily upright against his thigh and flashing him a giggling grin punctuated with the odd milk tooth.

Rimmer simply blinked, unsure what to do. "Um. Hello. Corin - ?" he tried.

His mother stopped hesitantly a few feet away. "I'm sorry," she laughed nervously, hanging back as if loathed to approach. "He's got no sense of boundaries, have you mister?" she added mock-pointedly to her son.

The toddler paid little attention to his mother's apologies, instead holding his short, chubby arms aloft to Rimmer. "Egbee!" he demanded.

Confused, Rimmer's brow furrowed as he glanced up to the boy's mother for translation.

"Erm." The woman bit the tip of her thumb. "I think he wants you to pick him up," she explained, a reassuring smile slipping out of the edges of her thumb.

"Oh," Rimmer mumbled nervously. "Right."

Placing the screwdriver and transmitter on the floor beside him, he gingerly picked up the tiny child and held him aloft at arm's length, as if he were wary that this strange contraption may explode, unannounced, at any moment. He'd never had much of a knack when it came to babies. The single time he'd met his brother Frank's baby daughter at her christening, she'd been sick on him within seconds and promptly howled like a banshee until his sister in law, Janine, had rescued her.

Corin stared back at him in silent bemusement. His oversized dungarees, crudely yet lovingly cut and hand-stitched from an old pair of JMC khakis, rucked up around his ears as he blinked.

The woman hugged her arms, watching them with a warm smile as her friend joined her. "Hmm - " The brunette mused as she stifled a giggle. "And who says that men don't have a way with babies too, hey Evie?" she muttered under her breath, a little too loudly.

Evie dug an elbow into her friend's side. "Petra!" she scolded with a hiss before turning back to face the awkward pair, her grin growing wider at Rimmer's visible flinch as Corin suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. "Ignore her. He really seems to like you."

A small smile tugged at the edge of Rimmer's mouth. With the beginnings of the same blonde curls, the young boy bore a strong resemblance to the woman before him. And yet - his gaze flitted between mother and son - he sported a pair of clear, green eyes as opposed to his mother's of stark computer-blue. Rimmer's eyes faded for a moment as a thought hit him. This child before him seemed to be an echo of someone else he'd once known; a thought that only stayed with teasing brevity before skittering away into darkness once more just as soon as it had tickled him.

A distant movement caught Rimmer's eye and he glanced up over the boy's shoulder. Sat up on the maintenance gantry high above them, a familiar figure was watching him silently; the pair exchanging a wordless gaze for just a moment before the figure pulled back into the shadows.

Corin giggled more fervently this time, ensnaring Rimmer's attention once more. He forced a smile. "He's cute," Rimmer offered, as he stood to hand the boy back to his mother who enveloped him lovingly in her arms. Fishing up the screwdriver and transmitter from the floor, he flipped a quick, playful salute to the boy who, having embarked on chewing absently on his finger, returned the gesture with a drooling grin. "Nice to meet you all," he added quickly, before hurrying off into the shadows.

Evie stared after him for a moment, as if mulling over something silently, before Corin's cries for attention demanded precedence and she tickled him playfully.

*******

Rimmer was convinced that by the time he'd climbed up to the maintenance gantry, McGruder would have slipped away to avoid confrontation. Yet as he hoisted himself up the last section of the ladder and secured a footing onto the metal gantry, he could see him still sat hunched over in the darkness.

Rimmer approached uncertainly. "Hey."

McGruder didn't turn to acknowledge him, instead continuing to stare down below, almost unseeing. "Hey," he echoed absently, lost in thought.

Reading his lapse into silence as a wordless invitation, Rimmer sank down awkwardly to his haunches beside him. He stretched his long legs through the gaps in the safety rail, allowing his boots to dangle into the chasm below, and tapped his screwdriver thoughtfully against the metal.

"You been avoiding me?" he asked eventually.

McGruder's jaw tightened, his teeth set on edge by the irritating tinny beat. "No."

Regarding him strangely, Rimmer cocked his head to one side, as if to try and snatch his attention. "You can't even look at me when you say that?"

After a pause, McGruder tilted a pointed look towards him, cocked a challenging eyebrow, and then drew back once more to return to his stare below them. Rimmer snorted in amusement. Fair enough.

He followed McGruder's gaze to where he continued to watch Evie below, distantly chatting gibberish to the small boy she held aloft, her words lost against the overriding hum of the Colony's engines. Flicking back the blonde curls from her face, she flashed a smile at her son that seemed to wrench physically at McGruder's chest, drawing forth a silent sigh.

A knowing grin tugged at the edge of Rimmer's mouth. "You like her, don't you?"

McGruder sighed a second time, but this time in irritation. "Not in the way you're thinking, no."

But Rimmer wasn't to be swayed. "Well, well, well," he teased. "Mister oh-so-cool SCM has a secret love."

"Ace, I don't love her that way," he strained, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, his voice edged dangerously with impatience. "Please, just drop it."

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, don't give me that crap. It's written all over your face - "

"Just drop it, ok?" McGruder snapped suddenly, his green eyes flashing with an aggression that Rimmer wasn't expecting. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Rimmer simply blinked in surprise. This was clearly a nerve too sore to tap. He held his hands aloft momentarily, indicating point dropped, before returning to tinker with the transmitter.

McGruder sighed raggedly, expelling his anger with one breath. He'd been trying to gather the stones to speak with him for the last day now, still uncertain whether or not to reveal the connection between them that Rimmer was still blind to. Snapping at him probably wasn't going to be the best method to steer the conversation in the right direction. Even if he never mentioned who he really was, he still felt that in some way, shape or form, he owed him an explanation about Evie.

"I was in love once," McGruder muttered, a voice under his breath still loud enough to catch Rimmer's attention. "Many, many years ago." McGruder flashed him an embarrassed smile. "Selina." It was a name he hadn't uttered for such a long time, yet even now it was etched with a sense of bittersweet memories that reflected in his tone. Memories he had to swallow before he could even continue.

"I rescued her from her ship, the SS Viola, and brought her back here to the Colony." He closed his eyes to picture her once more. "She was achingly beautiful," he breathed. "Piercing blue eyes. Dark brown curls that stretched down her back." McGruder opened his eyes once more. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd had girlfriends back when I was in Cadet School on Miranda." He shook his head loosely. "But when I met her, it all felt completely different. I just knew it was love. The real deal." He turned to face Rimmer. "It just caught me off guard, you know?"

Rimmer nodded wordlessly in agreement, although he wasn't overly sure if he did.

"We kept it a secret around here, just between us. But the time we spent together was mind-blowing." McGruder picked at the peeling paint from the safety rail, his face clouded in embarrassment. "I guess we were fooling around and weren't being overly careful. When she told me she was pregnant I was ecstatic." Remorse pinched McGruder's brow. "She was crying."

McGruder examined his boots silently and Rimmer looked away.

"It would have been too complicated, me being involved. I can understand that," McGruder conceded, albeit with a definite degree of pained resentment. "Babies don't know any better. But when they grow up, they ask questions. They'd want to know why their father doesn't change or grow older like everyone else. Why they have to grow old and pass on and I don't."

Rimmer nodded, understanding. "You have no ageing gene." When McGruder glanced at him surprised, he shrugged. "Ellie told me," he explained.

"Before the Mayflower project, they made us go through all these therapy sessions about it." McGruder snorted bitterly, and shook his head. "It was only when I had something to lose that immortality suddenly felt more like a curse than a blessing." He cast his eyes up to the glass dome where the eternal stars twinkled distantly. "They're swept away as time moves on, getting older, and you're just left standing there, unable to follow."

McGruder drew up his long legs, wrapping his arms around his knees. "It was for the best really," he nodded vacantly. "But it's hard when you can't just step in and join them. You're just left behind." He rested his chin on his knee. "To sit and watch."

Rimmer noticed McGruder return his gaze to Evie once more. Crouched down, she beckoned to Corin to toddle over towards her open arms, sweeping him up in a tight hug and praising his ever-strengthening steps. A warm, reminiscent smile tugged at the edges of McGruder's mouth.

"She has her grandmother's eyes," he murmured.

Rimmer's eyes flitted between McGruder, the woman below, and back to McGruder again. "Is she your - ?"

A sharp look stopped Rimmer in his tracks, and he immediately knew this was a door McGruder didn't want to open. He nodded, understanding and fell silent once more, picking ineffectually at the transmitter with the screwdriver.

"Have you ever been in love?"

The question stopped Rimmer short. Since his time as Ace, he'd been with women of all shapes, sizes, races and species. Over the years, yes, emotions and feelings had flared up to the surface on a couple of occasions. But love? He genuinely wasn't sure. Besides, he knew and understood that it was best to keep them all at arm's length, not allowing anyone to get close to him. No matter how he felt, he had to keep in mind that in order to survive as Ace, he had to be the man with nothing to lose. With no ties.

Rimmer shook his head. "I don't know," he said simply.

As soon as his glance met McGruder's, he turned away; his non-committal response clearly not what he wanted to hear. Rimmer gazed up to the sparkling stars. It had been many, many years for him too, a memory that he tried not to dredge up too often, for fear of how long the ache took to fade.

Rimmer opened another door cautiously, one that even Lister had not been privy to. "There was this one woman," he mumbled nervously. "Many years ago."

At the words, McGruder's heart began to pound so hard, he was certain it was trying to make a break for freedom. He stared at him expectantly, his eyes begging to be let through. "What was she called?" he ventured quietly.

Both men stood in the doorway, teetering on the verge of revelation. After McGruder's admission, Rimmer had every intention of returning the gesture. Unfortunately, unknown to Rimmer, rather than opening up a new level of trust, he managed to inadvertently slam the door in McGruder's face with a name. The wrong name.

"Nirvanah."

A host of unreadable emotions flashed across McGruder's face, his eyes quivering in the low light. He blinked slow and heavy, his head nodding vacantly, no-one home.

"Right," he mumbled eventually. It was all he could manage. "Right."


	7. Derelict

The news had spread like wildfire; the excitement and impatience building with flurries of whispers. That morning, the Colony had woken up to the best news they'd heard in months.

A new ship had appeared on the long range scan. The SS Constantine.

It was finally a chance to restock on precious food supplies, gather electronic upgrades and medical information, and perhaps even welcome newcomers to the Colony.

And this is how it came to pass that Rimmer and McGruder - the universe's answer to The Odd Couple - now found themselves stood silently in the claustrophobically small airlock to the derelict. The chilly air resonated with the odd metal churn and hiss, the only sounds to pass between the pair.

Rimmer took a deep breath through flared nostrils and McGruder regarded him through one eye in expectation, only for Rimmer to release it with an impatient sigh.

A distant, steady drip echoed across metal walls. Rimmer began to tap the steel cap of his boot against the floor. McGruder's jaw tightened.

"This airlock is taking forever," Rimmer huffed eventually, perhaps more to break the silence than to make a point.

Still licking his wounds from their chat the previous evening, McGruder growled under his breath. "I'm sorry," he replied tightly. "Unfortunately I don't follow your mantra of 'Oxygen is for Losers'."

Rimmer blinked in surprise at the tone. "And what's eating you, sunshine?"

There was a final clunk and hiss as the airlock released and the heavy metal door creaked open. McGruder ducked through the low doorway and stepped into the still, silent ship. "Nothing."

"Hmm," Rimmer mused, not entirely convinced, as he followed suit.

The pair walked in silence through the maze of unfamiliar corridors, the sound of their booted footfall echoing across the lonely walls.

"Is this because of what I said about your ship?"

McGruder slowed and stopped, glancing over his shoulder back to Rimmer. "What?"

Rimmer shrugged, defeated. "Why you've been so shitty with me ever since we left," he probed. "Because I said it was as slow as the service in Little Chef?" He regarded the floor for a moment before returning his gaze. "Look, I'm sorry. I guess I'm used to zipping around in Wildfire and travelling interstellar. Flying in anything else feels as speedy as the losing team in the Eastbourne Zimmer Relay Championships."

McGruder bit back a helpless smirk. He'd certainly sulked at having to leave his precious Wildfire behind when he'd insisted on taking his own clapped out ship, Benetar, because it had more storage room for bringing back the spoils of their mission. And seeing Rimmer's genuine look of concern succeeded in drawing forth a relenting sigh.

"Yes, Ace," he nodded exasperated, rolling his eyes. "I was offended at your jibe. Now can we get on with the shopping?"

Rimmer seemed appeased by this. "First things first," he insisted with a proud grin. "I've brought a present along for you."

"Ahh, you shouldn't have," McGruder replied playfully as he walked back to join him.

Flicking up the back of his jacket, Rimmer pulled his spare pair of guns that he'd stashed in his belt and proffered them to McGruder.

The smile drained from McGruder's face. "No really, you shouldn't have," he insisted bluntly.

"Oh come on - "

"Ace, I'm serious," he reprimanded. "That's not how we work, we're a peaceful Colony. We don't just wander onto other people's ships armed and dangerous. We operate a non-offensive approach. No weapons."

Rimmer seemed unimpressed. "Sure," he mused aloud. "So for protection against simulants, you just use 'Bob'."

McGruder scowled. "EDD."

"Whatever."

"It saved your arse not too long ago," McGruder quipped back with a challenging eyebrow.

Rimmer snorted in amusement. "Touché."

McGruder chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Besides, I didn't bring it with me." At Rimmer's look, he shrugged. "I can't use it without frying you anyway. I thought it best to leave it on the Colony."

Rimmer proffered the guns once more with a wicked smile. "All the more reason then, right?"

The guns sparkled in the low light, winking invitingly at him. Giving into temptation with a relenting sigh, McGruder accepted the offer, taking just the one at first. It had been so long since he'd last utilised his weaponry training during his SCM years, and something about taking up arms once more awakened a host of fear and adrenaline all in one breath.

"You know how to handle them?" Rimmer pressed.

With expert dexterity, McGruder flipped the gun back in his palm, musing aloud like he was sampling a fine wine. "Heckler &amp; Koch," he glanced down the sight, "Match range." He unclipped the magazine, hardly giving it a second look before snapping it back into place. "18 rounds if I'm not mistaken." He snapped back the slide and loaded. "I'm sure I'll manage."

Helping himself to the gun's partner, McGruder tucked the pair into his belt and strode away with a barely-concealed smirk, leaving Rimmer to stare after him. A grin split his features. Now here was a guy after his own heart.

*************

"I don't get it!" McGruder cried angrily as he kicked the console. "They should be here!"

The pair had spent two hours trawling through the ship, only marginally bigger than Starbug used to be, and had found nothing. No food supplies, no clothing, zip.

Rimmer remained silent as he glanced around the Drive Room where they now stood. He knew how big a deal this was to the Colony; if they lost this, they could lose everything. He watched out of the corner of his eye as McGruder spurted forth clouds of angry breaths that curled before him in the chilly air. The air remained undisturbed around Rimmer. He didn't even need to breathe.

McGruder hammered desperately at the keyboard, booting up the mainframe once more. The room began to hum into life, pulsing out flurries of dust into the air. "See?" he jabbed a finger at the screen. "Six months it says. Food supplies on the last ship inventory stood at six months."

Rimmer would have put forward the premise that logs on derelicts were about as reliable as British Rail timetables, but thought it best to keep quiet. After all, the inhabitants could have bailed out when they saw another ship, taking everything with them. Eaten the last of everything and eventually starved, too weak to bother updating the system.

It was then that Rimmer noticed it. His eyes narrowed as he studied the far corner of the Drive Room where the metal grated walls met the ceiling; lengths of wires hanging loosely in a tangled mess. Where the security camera should have been.

His stomach plummeted. Turning back, he crossed to join McGruder at the mainframe. "When was the last log in?"

McGruder's brow furrowed, too distracted to follow. "What are you talking about? What use - ?"

"Find out the last log in!" Rimmer barked urgently.

McGruder blinked twice in surprise before pummelling at the keyboard. A date flashed up on the screen before them. "Three days ago - " he breathed.

Rimmer's trigger finger instinctively twitched in readiness. "It looks like someone or something beat us to it," he announced grimly. "And I'd lay my last bet on it being simulants."

McGruder swivelled to face him, panic building in his clear, green eyes. "Simulants have never entered this sector before," he mumbled quietly. "We're only 150 clicks away from the Colony. That's way too close for comfort."

Rimmer nodded, understanding. "I've heard that Scarper City is lovely this time of year." He backed up towards the exit. "Care to join me?"

McGruder needed no further encouragement. The pair left with a brisk stride, tracking back through the ship and heading back for the airlock. If they headed back to the Colony and operated on silent running for a few weeks, chances were that the simulants would cross by as close as 60 clicks away and not even notice them.

The ancient lighting in the Science Room flickered as if in distant panic as they entered. A room which, once upon a time, would have been a hive of activity was now still and deathly silent; the remnants of experiments and research still waiting in expectation exactly as they'd been left.

Noticing that the second set of footsteps had slowed and stopped, Rimmer turned back to see McGruder rifling through the papers and chemicals. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked impatiently.

"The SS Constantine was a Space Corps medical research ship," McGruder explained hurriedly as he continued to rustle through the spoils, folding and pocketing the odd choice specimen. "If we can't leave here with food supplies I can at least bring back some discoveries for Ellie and her team to work on."

Rimmer sighed. "Five minutes," he relented.

The lighting continued to flicker as Rimmer massaged his temples, trying to conjure up a far more relaxing scene. The sunsets of Blerios 5. The snowy fields of Adelphi 12, those not ruined by the gathering onslaught of the industrial revolution that had tightened its grip on the planetoid. He opened his eyes. The glass partition to the adjoining Observation Room reflected back his tired, drawn face. He may be a hologram, but his years as Ace were arguably beginning to show around his eyes.

The lighting died in a flicker, and just for a moment, Rimmer's reflection faded to reveal something else staring back in stark clarity before his image returned. His massaging stopped dead as his eyes strained to peer through the glass into the dark room.

"Lights," he called, barely audible enough for the voice recognition to pick up on. The incessant flickering of the main overhead lights ceased immediately, the room now picked out by the distant glow of the table lamps at each of the lab desks. Rimmer's chest froze. It hadn't been an illusion.

"McGruder - " he mumbled.

"Ace, please, let me finish." McGruder sighed raggedly. "Two minutes, ok?" he bargained. "Two."

"McGruder!" Rimmer insisted once more, his voice now hissing urgently through gritted teeth.

Swivelling to face him angrily, the scowl immediately melted from McGruder's face as he noticed Rimmer standing stock still, staring through the glass partition between the Science Room and Observation Room with a distant wariness in his eyes. Slowly turning to follow his gaze, he too froze once he noticed what Rimmer had been staring at.

"Ah."

Stirring in the further reaches of the darkness in the Observation Room, a faceless, spider-like robot was regarding them silently. The once-smooth, silver panelling, now damaged with dents and scorch-marks, flickered in the distant light as it pushed itself up to its full, seven-foot height, its servos straining and buzzing at the effort.

Rimmer pursed his lips in contemplation. "DefenceBot?"

McGruder nodded wordlessly. He'd known from previous encounters that Space Corps derelicts from the 25th Century onwards had often been supplied with DefenceBots to protect human crews from any potential nasties in their exploration of Deep Space. A fantastic premise in theory.

Unfortunately, DefenceBots were discovered to be a little too over-zealous in their readiness to use their defence mechanisms, following their programming to the binary note. In effect, if any unregistered entity set a single foot on their ship, they were to be destroyed. Which didn't make the human race overly popular with GELFs and the like, where a diplomatic meeting of two species would end up resembling a censored scene out of a horror movie when the DefenceBot got a little overprotective.

"Okey dokey," McGruder began calmly. "I suggest we move slowly and quietly to the nearest exit so that we keep Mr D.B. here from kindly providing us with a demonstration of why he was designed."

The DefenceBot's single camera 'eye', which sat near the top of its body, studied them intently. The aperture closed in over the lens as if narrowing in suspicion. "Intruder alert," it announced in a sullen, monotone voice etched with a buzzed distortion, muffling through the glass between them.

"Sorry to disturb, fella," Rimmer soothed. "We didn't mean any harm."

The camera 'eye' suddenly illuminated red, thrusting out a thin red beam of light through the glass that scanned up and down the contours of the unfamiliar figures before retreating once more into darkness.

"Weaponry detected."

There was a sigh. "And whose bright idea was it to bring the guns?"

"Um - "

McGruder cocked an un-amused eyebrow. "Hmm."

"Threat Level Four."

Rimmer snorted as he waggled the fingers that hovered above his guns in earnest, a playful smile tobogganing across his face. "Four?! Please, I must be at least an eight - "

An aggravated growl dragged across McGruder's vocal chords. "A bit of perspective, please?!"

"Sorry."

The DefenceBot's servos whirred and clicked as it copied Rimmer's defensive stance, its huge claw-like fingers wiggling with buzzing readiness.

McGruder's eyes narrowed as he studied the droid carefully. "The thing's taken a real beating from the simulants," he murmured warily as he clocked the scorch marks and dents from rapid gunfire peppering the silver surface of its body. "It looks pretty pissed off."

"Come on McGruder," Rimmer rallied. "It's two of us against one droid. We can take him."

The DefenceBot paused in thought before straightening resolutely, its programming conjuring the most aggressive form of attack. A panel slid away from its right upper forearm to reveal a rocket launcher, aligning it towards the pair and loading with an almost gleeful enthusiasm.

"Terminate targets."

The edge of Rimmer's confident smile twitched nervously as the rest of his face fell.

"Oh sh- "

The force of the blast threw them both back across the room; the flaming air exploding towards them with a thousand shards of shattered glass.


	8. Defences

It couldn't have taken him too long to come round after the explosion, Rimmer reasoned to himself. He could still see the singed remnants of research papers that fluttered to the ground like snow; the air clinging thick with white smoke.

Rimmer hauled himself to sit upright with a weak groan, the broken glass tumbling from his head and chest. He could feel his lightbee as it pulsed and strained inside him, begrudgingly embarking on yet another self-repair on his flickering image.

"McGruder?" he croaked. "Are you ok?"

McGruder didn't answer.

"McGruder - ?"

Casting about frantic eyes, Rimmer's stomach plummeted as he found him lying silently a few feet away, shimmering in the low light with a fine layer of broken glass. Scrabbling over to join him, he hesitated for a moment, fearful of the worst, before pressing quivering fingers to his neck.

His entire chest heaved with relief. He was alive.

The deck crunched beneath him as he sat back on his haunches and sighed. McGruder was out for the count; his inanimate face seeming peaceful against the cuts and scratches that flecked his cheeks and forehead.

Rimmer had just been silently grumbling to himself that McGruder didn't look like an overly light load to haul back to the ship. He'd just been daring to wonder if things could possibly get any worse. And that's when he heard it - the whirring of servos through the swirling smoke that signalled that a) he had bigger problems to contend with, and b) they could get worse. A hundred times worse.

It seemed that the DefenceBot was being disappointingly thorough, keen on ensuring that it had completed its mission with fatal accuracy. Rimmer's jaw tightened, watching through the receding smokescreen as its distant shadow grew slowly larger. Finally the 'Bot emerged from the smoke, staggering to climb through the shattered glass partition. 

It was now abundantly clear that after ensuring McGruder's survival, Lady Luck had bailed out on him on this one; most likely now draping herself across the shoulders of a wealthy Blerion trader as he gambled away his earnings in some Galactic Bazaar drinking pit.

"Bugger," he mused metaphorically. Karma really did hold sway in the cosmos.

As not to give away McGruder's position, he quickly scrambled across the room alongside the back wall, keeping as low as he could. Suddenly Rimmer froze behind an upturned stainless steel lab table. The DefenceBot had clocked him; its red camera 'eye' regarding him with wordless contempt.

"That wasn't very nice, you know," the hologram reprimanded with a tut as he straightened. "I'd give that welcome a zero out of ten."

Rimmer watched as the Bot's claw-like fingers retreated back, balling into large fists. He'd learned over the years that when it came to a battle, you had to throw yourself in head-first. All or nothing. Yes, this robot before him was a bone fide killing machine, probably had 35 methods of murder programmed into its CPU and had chalked up more deaths than Rimmer had enjoyed hot dinners. But you just had to look on the bright side.

During his nine years as Ace, there were two important things that he had learnt about his electronic existence that had always helped his skills in combat. The two reasons why he was now smiling.

One. Back in the late 21st Century, when the Space Corps was designing the first class of holograms, what the technicians lacked in know-how in replicating the complexities of touch sensation, they _more_ than made up for in creating impeccable sight observation.

Two. The hard-light technology afforded electronic life forms, such as himself, a level of strength he could never have dreamt of when he was alive. The fact that holograms were powered by an immense amount of energy meant that if he moved hard and fast enough, he could shift almost anything.

The aperture 'blinked' over the camera eye, the red glow disappearing for a moment in distant thought. "Threat level eight," it announced eventually.

A wicked grin stretched across Rimmer's face. "Much better," he relented before arching an inviting eyebrow. "Shall we?"

The instant the DefenceBot launched itself towards him, Rimmer had already reacted. Springing his weight and balance onto his left leg, its partner kicked the upturned lab table before him as hard as he was physically able. 

The 'Bot didn't have a chance to dodge its fatal trajectory. As the two collided spectacularly in mid-air, a clash of metal on metal, Rimmer snatched out his guns and let forth a flurry of bullets. By the time the 'Bot had crashed to the floor only a few feet before him, it sported ten fresh bullet holes across the CPU casing on its chest; a sure-fire method of shutting down any robotic life form.

Or so Rimmer thought.

Clearly rather upset, the DefenceBot hauled itself to its feet in a flash of angered sparks, a panel sliding back from its left upper arm to extend forth a rather nasty-looking M249 light machine gun. Rimmer's face fell, his arms slowly dropping with dreaded realisation as he stared down the barrel.

There was a third, and rather important, nugget of wisdom he'd learnt during his last nine years as Ace. When you're faced with an automatic weapon, you run like hell.

Rimmer quickly turned and sprinted away towards the safety of the next lab table; artificial adrenaline surging through his system as he heard the tell-tale _click_ before the inevitable rally of gunfire. He leapt, gritting his teeth as he felt a spray of bullets lance across his back. Rolling across the top of the table, he quickly dropped to the safety it offered behind, the remaining gunfire peppering bubbles into the stainless steel.

His image crackling at the edges, Rimmer sucked in a breath as the static began to buzz in his ears. The computer was going to be very annoyed with him when he got back to Wildfire. A haggard smile inched across his face as he grimaced against the pain. He was completely invalidating his lightbee's warranty.

The moment that the onslaught ceased, Rimmer hauled himself back up to peek his guns over the ledge of the lab table and returned fire, ploughing another rally of bullets into the CPU's casing. He quickly ducked back down as another incessant flurry of gunfire hammered into the table once more.

Rimmer cursed audibly as the gathering momentum of metallic footfall against the rapid gunfire suggested that the DefenceBot was swiftly approaching - keen to end the formalities and focus on ending him instead. His brain spluttered for options. He couldn't break cover for fear of getting pummelled with bullets. But equally, he couldn't just sit there and wait for the 'Bot to reach him for fear of giving the warranty on his lightbee a serious run for its money.

Rimmer slid out the magazines of his guns and immediately snapped them back in again, wishing he'd never looked. With only twelve bullets remaining, he really didn't have a choice. Or did he?

'Ippy dippy - ' Oh screw it…

Drawing back both legs, Rimmer kicked out at the table as hard as he could, propelling it forward with a teeth-grinding screech into the path of the oncoming DefenceBot.

_Clang._

Rimmer glanced up and immediately winced. Well, that hadn't quite gone to plan. The 'Bot had stopped the oncoming table dead underneath its huge, claw-like foot, as if it were only a football.

It was almost as if the DefenceBot had anticipated such a response from him. As if it were adapting to its adversary's attacks. Learning.

Moving in unison, they each glanced down at the table and back up to one another. Servos buzzed innocently as the 'Bot simply 'blinked' in realisation.

Uh-oh.

Rimmer dived to his left, narrowly avoiding the metal table as it flew across the room and crashed against the back wall where he'd just been crouching. So much for breaking cover. He quickly pulled himself to his feet and started firing desperately as the 'Bot changed weapons.

On the third round, he noticed that the droid twitched strangely, as if he'd hit something key. He kept firing in the same spot, noticing with a rising sense of relief that the 'Bot had ceased trying to shift weaponry and was showing signs of system failure. By the eighth round, the 'Bot gave another series of violent twitches.

Three…two…one…

Rimmer watched as with a final shudder, the DefenceBot collapsed to the ground, the red glow of the camera 'eye' dying with a low hum.

In the silence that followed, Rimmer let go of a breath he didn't even realise he'd been holding. Guns still trained on the pile of lifeless metal, he stalked slowly closer, his boots crunching on the glass-gritted floor. He extended a cautious foot and prodded one of the large, metallic arms. No response.

A cocky smile tugged at the edge of his mouth as he lowered his guns. "I think that deserves a promotion to 'threat level ten', don't you?" he challenged. The 'Bot had nothing to say on the matter.

Inwardly, he was rather pleased with the situation – thirty-six bullets down, 'Bot down. Not an inch wasted. Time to save McGruder, bring him back to the Colony, and be named as hero of the hour. He grinned to himself. The best bit of the job.

With a relieved chuckle, Rimmer released the spent magazines from his guns. The two hollow clangs as they hit the deck were clearly what the DefenceBot was waiting for.

Rimmer gave a choked gasp as the 'Bot's arm shot out, rattle-snake fast, and snared him tightly by the throat. Caught off guard, he immediately dropped his guns and grasped the 'Bot's impossibly strong arm as it lifted him effortlessly off the ground, his boots kicking out frantically in mid-air. The damn thing had clearly been counting his rounds, waiting for him to drop his defences before executing its final attack.

The red 'eye' awoke once more, regarding him in stony silence as the 'Bot rose up to its full seven-foot height. Rimmer could make out his own panicked stare reflected back at him in the glass of the camera as he desperately trying to loosen the claw's vice-like grip. Yes, technically he couldn't be choked to death but it still hurt like hell.

Clearly confused by its target's irrational and irritating refusal to die, the 'Bot's resolve and grip doubled in ferocity. Rimmer grit his teeth as he was thrust up against the back wall, staring back hard into the lifeless, mechanical eye. The pressure was unbearable, yet he couldn't help but grin inwardly. Even after three unsuccessful murder attempts, the DefenceBot clearly hadn't worked it out.

Noticing that Rimmer's pained grimace twitched with an edge of smugness, the aperture closed over the red glow as if narrowing in suspicion. A neon red light scanned across Rimmer's face once more, and he recoiled at the harsh brightness.

"Electronic life form," the DefenceBot buzzed, its monotone voice etched with a tone of sudden recognition.

Bugger.

Rimmer's brow knotted with fear as a horribly familiar, high-pitched whine sounded from the claws wrapped around his neck. He had a strong suspicion that he wasn't going to enjoy what was about to happen one little bit. He wasn't wrong.

An involuntary cry of agony - in his own voice rather than Ace's - was ripped from his throat as the 'Bot fired unrelenting blasts of electricity through his system. He could feel his lightbee radiating white-hot in his chest as the rest of his image crackled and spasmed in static. 

Struggling against the sharp, stabbing pains that lanced up and down his spine, his fingers scrabbled desperately at the clamp-like claw to free himself but to no avail. Through blinding blue flashes, he watched in mounting horror as the harsh glare of the camera eye stared at him coldly, not even flickering with mercy.

And in one sickening instant, Rimmer figured it out. The DefenceBot was trying to create a power surge that would overload his lightbee and shut his projection down.

The pressure building in his chest strained for freedom, his entire image feeling like it was burning and charring in flames. A choked sob begged for release as the agony reached a crescendo and for one horrible moment in time, he almost didn't care which side of the fence he fell.

And then it came. His salvation.

The DefenceBot recoiled suddenly, a series of sparked flashes pounding into its body armour. Out of the corner of his eye, Rimmer could see McGruder, clearly having finally regained consciousness, standing his ground across the room to his left, firing round after round into the Bot's side.

Rimmer gave a pained gasp as the electricity suddenly wrenched itself out of his body. The death grip around his neck released and he crumpled to the floor in a splutter of coughs and heaves. As the 'Bot turned its attentions to its second target, panic slowly began to drip-feed through the fuzzy, distorted mess that his mind had become. The whirring of servos and the tell-tale loading click of a Heckler &amp; Koch firearm gave the jump-start his vocal chords needed.

"McGruder! Get back!" he yelled.

McGruder pulled back as the first round of gunfire thundered towards him, leaping behind the safety of an upturned lab table. He grunted as a searing white-hot pain in his side began to pulse but pushed it to one side in his mind. It would have to bloody well wait and join the queue. Every part of his body seemed to have lined up at the complaints desk after that explosion.

"McGruder! Are you alright?" came the cry over the dying echoes of gunfire.

McGruder snapped out the magazines from each of his guns to do a quick count and reloaded. "Peachy!" he snorted back with all the sarcasm he could muster.

Laughter swirled in the gun smoke that was beginning to choke the room. "About time you woke up, Sleeping Beauty!"

"Just in time to save your arse once again!" McGruder hollered back. Peering around the side of the table, he could see the fervent flickering of Rimmer's image as he crouched behind a bank of computer desks across the room, grinning back at him.

Rimmer cocked an eyebrow. "So what happened to the 'No Gun Rule'?"

McGruder's face hardened as the DefenceBot knocked aside a row of lab tables with a single sweep of its almighty claw, clearly keen on finishing the job. "Just shoot the damn thing!" he cried over the din, sliding one of his precious guns like an ice hockey puck across to Rimmer so that it skittered across the deck and into grateful hands.

Rimmer was about to bark out commands when McGruder beat him to it. "I'll take out the visuals," he asserted. "You go for the CPU."

Exasperated, Rimmer shook his head. "What do you think I've been filling with bullets for the last fifteen minutes?" he shouted back. "I've been firing at the bloody CPU casing and it's done nothing!"

McGruder thrust his hands over his head as a rogue lab chair hurtled in his direction missed by mere inches, shattering against the far wall. "It's not like other droids," he yelled back. "The CPU is housed on its back, not its chest plate."

Rimmer mentally smacked himself round the head for his stupidity. He'd been wasting round after round most likely shooting a decorative panel that housed the tea and coffee making facilities. "I knew that," he muttered.

Peering around the corner of the computer bank desks to watch the 'Bot storming towards McGruder, he could finally see it - the small, square panel on its back that shielded the precious CPU. As he levelled his aim and fired, venting some much needed aggression into the CPU plate, he couldn't help but think that this was the sort of stress therapy Kryten should have suggested years ago.

He glanced across to see McGruder peeking up from the safety of the lab table, firing with a degree of accuracy and focus that Rimmer had never witnessed before. This boy was _good_. Five, perhaps six bullets down, the camera eye on the DefenceBot exploded in a squeal, a flurry of red sparks spurting forth as the 'Bot staggered weakly, lashing out in a blind sense of panic.

"Visuals down!" McGruder cried, triumphant. "Take it out!"

Rimmer needed no further encouragement. A second barrage of gunfire thundered into the CPU's casing followed by a series of hollow clicks. He cursed audibly.

No more bullets. No other options bar one. The hands-on approach.

Breaking cover, he swiftly hoisted himself up onto the long, stainless steel computer desk and raced across its length towards the DefenceBot, the long-dead monitors and electronic research equipment kicked away and smashing to the floor in his wake. As he reached the end of the desk, Rimmer used the extra height to springboard a flying leap, landing square on the 'Bot's back.

The 'Bot thrashed wildly like a Bucking Bronco, yet Rimmer managed to secure a tight grip with one hand. Flipping back his gun so that the barrel sat in his palm, he cracked down the butt of the gun onto the battered edge of the CPU housing over and over until it fell loose. 

Tearing it away to reveal the mess of snaking wires and flashing lights, Rimmer grabbed a large handful of wires and tugged as hard as he physically could. Spasms of electronic pulses danced up his arm before they ripped free, and the DefenceBot gave a final, desperate shudder before it crashed to the floor lifeless, powering down with a low hum.

Releasing a shuddered breath, Rimmer stepped down to the floor and surveyed the devastation around him. Upturned lab tables and chairs swept across the length of the Science Room, shattered glass and spent bullets littering the floor. His image was just as devastated; crackling and flickering as his lightbee fought to restore normal transmission.

He grinned weakly as McGruder regarded him with distinct amusement from behind the lab table. "No wonder you SCMs have such a reputation," he quipped, masking his concern. "That was some seriously lethal shooting back there."

McGruder nodded graciously. "Well you know what they say," he chuckled warmly. "Never cross - argh!"

McGruder stopped suddenly as he moved to stand, clutching his side in agony. The pain that he'd pushed to the back of the queue earlier had suddenly lurched to the forefront with a vengeance. Now that the adrenaline had subsided, he realised with a fluttering sense of panic quite how insistent and overwhelming it was.

"McGruder?" Visibly concerned, Rimmer's swift stride quickly broke into a run as he raced over towards him. "Are you - ?"

The word froze in his mouth as McGruder pulled his hands away, his palms slick with blood.

McGruder looked distantly concerned for a moment before his unsteady gaze met his. He seemed to open his mouth to speak, which instead disintegrated into a weak groan as Rimmer rushed forward to grab him before he hit the deck, lost words mumbled into his flight jacket.

************

Ellie shielded a yawn with the back of her hand as she extended her arm above her in a cat-like stretch. The night had well and truly drawn in back on the Colony, and after a long day of treating a varying host of ailments, she was now resigned to treating herself to a nice long sleep. She turned to her medical support team – a pair of sisters who had once worked with her on the SS Leviticus – and smiled.

"All right, chick-a-dees," she announced. "Time for bed. Good work today."

The brunette smiled back with a weary sigh and unclipped her hair, allowing her long, dark locks to tumble over her shoulders. "It is late," she conceded. She held the clip between her teeth to shrug off her white jacket, speaking in lost consonants. "I hope your Ron isn't so hungry that he's gnawing on his toolbox!"

Ellie snorted as she followed suit. "Nah," she brayed. "That husband of mine can wait."

A distant voice, all-too-familiar, called through the open doorway. "Ellie! Ellie!"

The blonde flicked an amused eyebrow. "Apparently not," she smirked.

Ellie rolled her eyes as she hung up her jacket. "What is it with men and their dinner? Honestly, it's only plain old boring rice for the umpteenth time." She thrust her hands on her hips. "You'd think he was expecting a full Sunday roast or summit!"

Ron's voice called out once more, the urgency now clear in his tone. "Ellie! For the love of god, girl, I need some help here!"

The shared grins fell as the women exchanged worried glances. Hurrying across to the doorway as swiftly as her waddle would allow, Ellie drew in a shocked gasp before turning back to the pair.

"Ladies quick, prepare bed 3!" she barked, her face suddenly pale. "McGruder's hurt!"

The trio burst in, Ron and Rimmer supporting the now unconscious McGruder between them. The sisters swiftly took action as Ellie called out for a host of unfamiliar drugs - unhooking the heavy, draped arm from Rimmer's shoulders and helping Ron to carry him to the bed.

Rimmer staggered back weakly as the weight was finally lifted, watching as they left. With no comms link to Wildfire, he hadn't had a chance to self-repair his lightbee, and he was now feeling decidedly worse for wear.

Ellie turned back to face him hurriedly. "Darling, you look awful," she clucked with concern. "Come lie down on the bed, let me check you over."

Rimmer's jaw jabbered silently as he fumbled for an excuse. "No really, I'm fine honest," he managed eventually, his mind growing thicker with distressed static. "I just need to get back to my ship and I'll feel right as rain." He clawed behind him, unseeing, for the doorframe.

"Don't be ridiculous," Ellie insisted. "You're clearly hurt." She moved forward to join him and Rimmer tried to back away. "Come on, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

"I'm fine, I'm fine - " Rimmer chanted as he leant against the doorframe, less of a reassurance for Ellie but more as a mantra for himself. He wasn't sure how much longer he could sustain his image at full projection to keep it from flickering.

Ellie tutted as she cast a glance over her shoulder to see Ron striding across to join her. "Can't you tell him, Ron?" Her brow furrowed as she clocked the look of shock that began to spread across Ron's features as he stared openly beyond her. "Ron?"

Turning back, she too watched in horror as Rimmer's projection began to crack and fizzle at the edges. His image pulsed in and out of sight as he slid down against the door, shuddering violently. The pair edged over towards him fearfully as he slumped to his haunches, no longer able to support himself.

"Sweet smegging Betsy," Ron breathed. "He's one of _them_." He almost spat the word, not quite daring to utter what they now knew to be true. Ron turned back to his wife, the new-found fear and animosity for Rimmer wrestling in his gaze. "What the hell do we do?"

Fetching a large woollen blanket from the nearby bed, Ellie draped it across Rimmer's shoulders, clearly having come to her own conclusion. "Take him back to his craft so he can self-repair," she replied shakily. "Don't let anyone see you."

"You can't be serious - ?"

"Ron, all I know right now is that he's saved McGruder's life bringing him back here to us," Ellie cut in testily before mopping her face with the palm of her hand, dropping her voice low. "Questions can wait another day."

The pair exchanged a charged stare that debated far more than words were able. Relenting, Ron took hold of Rimmer's arm, feeling the shimmers of broken electricity that danced across his skin, and hauled him to his feet, ensuring that the blanket covered his head to shield him.

"Don't worry," he reassured against Rimmer's weak moans of protest as he helped him out of the MediBay. "I've got you."


	9. Reflections

The truth was out.

Rimmer stared blankly before him, trying to take it all in.

They knew he was a hologram.

He screwed his eyes closed in a pained frown. He could only vaguely recollect returning to the Colony; his monochrome-hued memories clouded in static, as if he'd been drunk. But the look on their faces - as Ron and Ellie realised what he was - the fear that was plain in their eyes would always haunt him.

For the last two days he'd kept his distance from the Colony's inhabitants for fear of the backlash he felt to be inevitable; taking refuge in Wildfire as it sat alone in the Landing Bay. But with no news of McGruder's wellbeing reaching him in the still, silent darkness, he felt compelled to see for himself if he was alright.

He waited until darkness fell on the second day, when the people had dispersed to retire for the evening and the stars were free to sparkle through the glass dome once more. Keeping to the shadows and slipping past the distant sounds of hushed talk and laughter, Rimmer felt even more like a ghost walking, unwelcome, amongst the living.

As soon as Rimmer peered around the door to the MediBay, he was relieved to see McGruder awake and conscious. Casting nervous eyes around the room and realising that Ellie was nowhere to be seen, he approached the bed tentatively; booted footfall sounding meek echoes across the walls.

"Hey. You ok?" he whispered.

A welcome smile inched across McGruder's face at Rimmer's awkwardness. "I've been better," he joked hoarsely, struggling to haul himself into a seated position. "Luckily the Space Corps' gene fiddling means I can heal pretty quickly. Ellie reckons I'll be out of here tomorrow." He scratched in irritation at the needle drip in his left hand. "Boring as hell being stuck in here though."

Rimmer sighed raggedly. "Listen, did Ellie mention anything to you in the last couple of days? About me, I mean?"

"Like what?"

"She - " Rimmer paused to correct himself. "They know that I'm a hologram."

"Ellie and Ron?" McGruder winced. "Crap."

"I couldn't help it. My projection corrupted when I brought you here." Rimmer bit his lip. "I'm guessing I'm now as popular around here as Judas Iscariot at a Disciples Reunion."

McGruder shrugged helplessly as he rolled the outcomes through his mind. "Well, neither the nurses nor Ellie have mentioned anything to me. There could be a good chance they haven't told anybody about you." He offered a reassuring smile. "Besides, the fact of the matter is that we both made it back here safe, right? No biggie."

The concern pinching Rimmer's brow swiftly making the inevitable evolution to a reproachful frown. "McGruder don't say it like that. Why did you have to put your life on the line back there, anyway?" he scolded. "You could have got yourself killed!"

The smile slowly retreated from McGruder's face. "You're welcome," he replied pointedly.

But Rimmer was not to be swayed. "McGruder, I'm serious. You're immortal not invincible. I can't be hurt." He ran guilty eyes across the wires of the drip feeding into McGruder's hand. "You can."

Flustered, McGruder covered the drip needle with free his hand, a feeble attempt at masking his weakness. "That doesn't take away my right to intervene," he insisted tersely. "I chose to help. I didn't think you'd come here and tell me off like you were - " He stopped himself suddenly, before staring back hard. "I thought you'd be grateful."

Rimmer shook his head, wracked with guilt. "I could have handled the situation myself. It's my responsibility, not yours." His eyes flitted over the now faint white lines that etched McGruder's face and arms, where the cuts and grazes had faded but the memories felt just as raw. This boy was far too keen to throw himself into a scrap; his SCM training clearly still an engrained part of him that strained for release. "You didn't need to put yourself at risk just to prove a point to me."

McGruder's eyes flashed with anger. "What's wrong with you? Why can't you just admit that you can't possibly do everything alone? Or realise that other people might want to help you?"

Rimmer scoffed, taken aback at the sudden outburst. "I didn't think - "

"That's the whole point," McGruder cut in. "You don't think. You don't even realise what you're doing. As long as you get to play the hero, all's right with the universe in your eyes. You don't even stop to consider how much you hurt the people you leave behind."

Rimmer hurriedly glanced behind him to see if McGruder's ranting was attracting any unwanted attention. Nobody seemed to have heard them. "Look," he began carefully, dropping his voice low and biting back some choice words. "You're not well and you're drugged up on painkillers so I'm just going to let that go, ok?"

"I think that I'm compus mentus enough to understand what an ungrateful, condescending jackass you're being," McGruder snapped back.

Rimmer's face darkened. "You know, I simply came here to see if you were alright and funnily enough, I don't fancy sticking around to listen to you insulting me," he bristled, flashing a scowl at the man before him before turning to leave. "So if you don't mind - ?"

Riled, McGruder snorted at his back. "Arnold J. Rimmer - doing what he does best. Walking away."

Turning back, Rimmer blinked in surprise as if he'd been stung. "What did you call me?"

There was a silence before McGruder spoke. "It's your real name isn't it?" He stared back expressionless.

Rimmer's eyes narrowed as he tried to decipher the look on McGruder's face. "How on Io did you - ?" He stopped as realisation dawned. "Ahh," he acknowledged, hands on his hips as he nodded, understanding. "You heard me and Ellie talking, didn't you?" He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but even hearing his old name made him feel embarrassed about his past self. "I don't understand why you're getting so funny about it. It's not like it changes anything - "

"It changes everything!" McGruder cried suddenly. At Rimmer's blank look, he shook his head in disbelief. "You don't get it, do you? It never crossed your mind that your real name might be important?"

Rimmer growled inwardly. He was rapidly losing patience for this. "What do you want me to say?" he snapped, his old snide voice faintly biting through the measured tones of Ace's. He threw open his arms, exasperated. "What do you want from me?"

McGruder's eyes searched his, his face wrestling with some unspoken battle before dropping wordlessly to the folds of the bed. He was gripping the sheets so hard, his knuckles had turned white.

"It was my name," Rimmer conceded tightly. "But it's not who I am anymore, ok?" He turned to leave, his face like thunder. "End of."

He'd almost reached the doorway when McGruder murmured two words that stopped him cold.

"Red Dwarf."

Shaken to the core, Rimmer had to press a hand against the doorframe as he slowly swivelled back to face him. There was no way he could have known that.

"How did you - ?"

"Is that where you met her?" McGruder pressed. "Do you even remember her or was she just another easy lay for you?" His eyes began to well up with angry tears as he stared back hard. "She loved you, you ungrateful bastard." His shoulders shuddered. "She loved you."

Rimmer could only stare back at him. "Who are you talking about?" he asked carefully.

The fear in McGruder's eyes was evident, but he swept it to one side as he wiped his nose with a sniff to try and claw back his composure. "You know, ever since I was a kid, she used to tell me how great you were. All the wonderful things you'd done and how modest and humble a man you'd always been." His face hardened, the tears fighting for return. "But it was all bullshit, wasn't it? She was just feeding me a pack of lies so I'd grow up wanting to be just like you."

Rimmer was shaking visibly now, the quivers echoing in his voice. "Who are you talking about?" he asked once more, as evenly as we was able.

Teetering dangerously on the precipice, there was only one way to fall. "Yvonne McGruder. Remember her now?" he challenged with all the venom he could muster, before swallowing hard. "My mother."

For one single moment, the universe and its reality seemed to slow; simultaneously slotting into place and shattering to pieces all in one terrible, deathly silence.

It was as if McGruder had dealt him a physical blow. Dizzy with disbelief, Rimmer slumped against the doorframe, blinking hard and fast. This man before him was his - ? His mouth hung open as it tried in vain to express the enormity of the onslaught of emotions he felt into the cruel limitations of language.

Instead, he shook his head. "No," he muttered.

Recoiling in stunned, hurt disbelief, McGruder almost laughed. Almost. "What?" he managed.

Rimmer screwed his eyes closed, clambering to untangle the knotted mess his mind had become. "No, she couldn't have been -- We used - "

Rimmer stopped dead. Had they used any protection? He knew the rules of safe sex had been drummed into him since the tender age of nine, and he'd never been the sort to go against regulations. But they'd downed almost a bottle and a half of claret waiting for the pizza to arrive. He'd felt squiffy and emboldened. They'd got carried away…

Rimmer kneaded at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "But she left," he implored, his brain desperately trying to shutter down the defences. "She left Red Dwarf on shore leaveat Miranda in the summer and just never came back - " The kneading stopped as a swift burst of mental arithmetic resulted in gut-wrenching realisation. April, May, June… Three months.

"She'd have known the JMC's protocol regarding mandatory termination on long-haul missions," McGruder mumbled quietly. "She bailed out whilst she could still hide it."

Shaking hands dropping loosely by his side, Rimmer opened his eyes. McGruder still sat there before him, yet now he could see Yvonne staring back at him through his gaze. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to be sick.

He blinked unsteadily, pulling back from the doorway with uncertain steps. "I-I'm sorry."

McGruder shook his head, his stomach plummeting like a lead weight. "Don't do this."

"I'm sorry. I can't - "

McGruder's face hardened as he struggled to sit up further in the bed. "Don't do this," he repeated emphatically. "Please - "

But Rimmer no longer heard him. Instead, he did what had always come naturally to Arnold J. Rimmer.

He ran.

He ran until his chest burned, sucking in lungfuls of cold air that he didn't even need. He sprinted openly past the last dredges of milling groups that still lingered in the square, barely even registering the shocked looks that crossed their faces.

Thinking that he'd heard someone calling after him, he glanced momentarily over his shoulder as he ran, his attention snatched for a fraction of a second. Enough of a distraction that he barrelled clumsily into an unseen person, the pair latching onto one another instinctively as they fought to regain their balance.

Glancing up, Rimmer froze as he stared back into a pair of computer-blue eyes just like Yvonne's. Evie was holding him steadily by the arms, concern pinching her brow as her eyes searched his. His jaw quivered as he stared back at her. Click.

"Ace, are you - ?"

Rimmer tore himself out of her grasp, a sound he didn't even realise he could make escaping his throat.

He raced towards the Landing Bay and ducked under the shuttered door, his hurried booted footfall echoing across the dark empty space. Hauling himself back up into Wildfire's cockpit, he listened for the glass hood to hiss shut over him before he let forth a shuddered gasp, slumping forward with his head between his knees.

Wildfire's dashboard illuminated with a ripple of white light across its surface. The computer listened wordlessly as Rimmer's short, rapid breaths caught in his throat.

"Ace?" She probed gently. "Are you alright?"

The sound of her voice made him stop still all of a sudden. Even the panicked breaths seemed to cease as for a full minute, he stopped breathing completely. He raised his head slightly, just enough to stare darkly into her dashboard camera through the wisps of his fringe. Snaking out an unsteady arm, his fingers trembling visibly, be began to type a name into the mainframes search engine.

McGruder

The computer seemed flustered but tried to keep her voice as steady as possible. "What are you doing?" she asked carefully.

Two entries flashed up in neon green text on the screen.

McGruder, Yvonne

McGruder, Michael

He dropped the cursor down to the second entry and tapped 'Enter'. A new text box immediately flashed up demanding a password. The entry had been date-locked.

"Ace, don't," the computer implored gently. "It's protected for a reason."

But Rimmer ignored her, typing in a date he knew with a wrench of gut instinct to be the password.

16.03.76 - the date he slept with Yvonne.

And out poured everything.

His eyes widened as they flitted left and right, taking in the reams of text that detailed the thousands of Michael McGruders out there in the infinite cosmos. Some still with his original crew of the Mayflower, some battling the Rage on the Black Planet, some stuck as prisoners in Cyberia, some creating human settlements such as the Colony, others deceased or missing in action.

McGruder's profile picture stared back at him from the corner of the screen, most likely sourced from the Space Corps files. Rimmer traced the outline of his jaw, the shape of his eyes and could finally see, with a horrible sense of irony, why he'd been reminded of his brother John when they'd first met.

Half-turning, he jumped visibly as he noticed a face staring back at him through the dark glass of the cockpit hood; terrified that for a chest-wrenching moment, McGruder had come to confront him. And then he realised, with an equal flutter of relief and fear, that it was his own reflection. Keeping his trembling to a minimum, his eyes locked with the visage before him as if afraid to shatter the illusion. So it was true. They were one and the same.

Rimmer tore his gaze away. He shouldn't even be here. Neither of them should be here.

He should have gone after Yvonne when she left. He could have looked after her. Offered to pay child support, marry her, anything. His mind began to run amok. He had savings - $£24,000 for smeg's sake. Enough to rent a small place on Io and get their lives started, together. No scornful parents or mocking brothers to intervene. Just him, Yvonne and their son. Their son. Their son.

On the surface, the revelation was wondrous. Breathtaking.

Yet scrape the surface, and it was evident that it had spawned something far darker. A raging sense of injustice that began to burn inside him. A black creature that would begin to torture him relentlessly with the question - what if, what if, what if…?

"Computer - " he choked in his old, nasal voice. "Was there a Michael McGruder in my dimension?"

"Ace, don't go down that road. It'll drive you mad - you won't come back."

Rimmer's hands balled into tight fists. "Just answer me straight," he demanded. He tried to keep his voice even, although he could feel it cracking at the edges; raw, unbridled emotion threatening to seep through. "Was there or was there not a Michael McGruder in my dimension?"

"The results from your predecessors are inconclusive. There's no record of a Michael McGruder in your dimension. He probably never existed."

Rimmer's face hardened with resolve as he peeled off the blonde wig to reveal his natural, brown curls underneath. "Or they never found him."

"Ace, no, you can't -"

"He's my son!" cried suddenly, angry tears beginning to well in his eyes. "So who the hell are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?" he added darkly. "And you knew the whole time, all these years, and didn't even think to tell me?!"

"Ace - "

"We're going back. Key in a jump to Dimension 23101986K."

The computer was silent.

Rimmer sniffed. "Fine, I'll do it myself."

He turned his attention back to the control panel and began to hammer ineffectually at the keypad. Nothing happened. He tried again. The screen remained frozen.

"Have you locked me out - ?" he breathed, his voice dangerously unsteady.

"It's for your own protection, Ace. Protocol 73642."

Rimmer thumped his hands down hard onto the dashboard. "Throw another 'protocol' at me again, and I'll show you who needs protection when I perform some rather archaic re-programming on your CPU with a sledgehammer." The vengeful tears still quivered in his eyes. "This is not your call."

The computer remained firm. "You know all too well that to be Ace you cannot have any ties - familial or otherwise." She paused for a moment."Your predecessors knew that, which is why they hid it from you."

Rimmer's fingers curled back against the cold, metal surface as he wrestled with the premise. None of them had done anything about it? Not one had given up being Ace to be a father? His head sunk into hands as he gripped his long, thin fingers in the curls of his hair and tugged.

"And that's why you'll have to hide it from the Aces that follow you."

He shook uncontrollably. Everything he'd ever dreamt of, but never had the chance to achieve, was being paraded in front of him like some sick, perverted torture.

A wife. A home. A son.

A normal, happy mortal life, where he was free to live out his days and die content.

Where his descendents walked through the grassy fields of Io, bathed in the orange glow of the beautiful sunsets. Not stuck out in the middle of deep space, scraping together a survival on a space station with the constant threat of hostile attack.

Not this twisted, immortal existence where he spent month after month, year after year fighting, killing, surviving. Nobody by his side. Facing the infinite universe, and its relentless dangers, alone.

He broke down. Bitter sobs escaped as the tears finally began track down his cheeks.

"It's not fair," he insisted, shaking his head in despair. "It's not fair."

"No," the computer conceded quietly, although the logic would never be clear to her. "It's not fair."


	10. Resolution

The humans had survived for over three million years.

They had banded together in deep space to keep the generations going; passing on traditions and religions so that they still felt a sense of connection to their old home and ways of living.

They had grown and adapted to the increasing number of hostile races and species out there in the infinite cosmos. Defending, networking and protecting themselves and one another to ensure their longevity.

Shame they still hadn't learned when it was best to keep their mouths shut, McGruder reasoned bitterly.

He was overseeing yet another day on the Colony, carefully watching over the inhabitants as they went about their business. Yet even as a part of the group, he felt alone. Being a leader had always felt like a lonely standing, but today especially so.

Now out of the MediBay after having recovered from his physical injuries, the shared group laughter that swirled around the central square seemed to isolate him from the crowd. He sighed raggedly, wondering how long it would take for the deeper, hidden wound to heal.

Why did he have to tell him? When he'd first regained consciousness in the MediBay, he'd made a pact with himself that it was perhaps for the best not to reveal who he really was. And what had he done? At the first opportunity, he'd retaliated in a moment of weakness and used the revelation as a snarky comeback in an argument.

It was official, he thought to himself. Michael R. McGruder was a genius.

But even so, he was his _father_. Wasn't he supposed to have been shocked but happy about the revelation? Slap him on the back, thank him for his help and tell him how proud he was? He was supposed to be a space hero for goodness sake. Surely he shouldn't have flashed his best 'rabbit trapped in headlights' impersonation before doing a runner?

Knotted up in his own thoughts, he hadn't even heard his name being called.

"McGruder - ? McGruder, sir?"

McGruder glanced over his shoulder and noticed with a start that a man was stood beside him, trying to capture his attention.

Midshipman Jarvis was a tall, lanky man, his dark hair closely shaved to hide his rapidly receding hairline. Ever since he'd arrived on the Colony ten years before, he'd been keen to bring an element of Space Corps formality to proceedings. Most likely a manifestation of comfort and familiarity that McGruder was happy to allow.

Jarvis flicked a sharp salute. McGruder arched an amused eyebrow.

"Something's shown up on the scanner, sir."

"Something?" McGruder echoed patiently.

"Some sort of ship, sir. No life signs," he confirmed. "Showed up out of nowhere, sir, so could be another derelict - "

But McGruder was no longer paying attention. Instead, his gaze had been caught by the man stood beyond Jarvis's shoulder, watching him intently. His heart thumped hard in his chest as he approached.

"McGruder," Rimmer swallowed.

McGruder stared back wordlessly for a moment, before he made a conscious decision. "Ace," he acknowledged tightly.

Jarvis noticed the awkward silence between them and cleared his throat with a less than subtle cough. "I'll, erm, I'll keep you up to date with any changes sir," he mumbled, before crossing the square and heading up the metal staircase to the Flight Deck.

Now alone, the pair exchanged charged stares, neither uttering a word. McGruder shrugged in challenge, as if to silently ask his intentions. When Rimmer didn't respond, hazel eyes simply dropping to the deck, McGruder shook his head, disappointed.

"Listen - " Rimmer sighed eventually.

But McGruder couldn't. "Don't. Just - don't."

Rimmer regarded him sadly. There was no malice in McGruder's words, only a sense of resigned acceptance as he stared back, the old sparkle in his green eyes now lacklustre in mourning.

No more words passed between them. With a slow nod, McGruder tore away his gaze and began to wander through the crowd and towards the stairs.

There was a moment of silence, and then, "God, you look so much like her," Rimmer called after his retreating back, before adding, "Michael."

At the name, McGruder stopped and turned back to face him, an onslaught of unreadable emotions thundering through his face. Rimmer offered a weak smile, an olive branch. McGruder's eyes searched his for a moment before a small smile of his own tugged at the edge of his mouth. Acceptance.

Without warning the ancient loudspeaker howled into life, the warning sirens blasting through the recycled air of the Colony. The milling groups of the main square glanced up hurriedly, panicked whispers flitting across the crowds as they all looked at one another, uncertain what to do. Others emerged from doorways surrounding the square, eyes wide with fear.

Clutching a radio transmitter that linked to the Flight Deck, Midshipman Jarvis pushed his way back through the crowds and hurried over to McGruder. "Lord save us," he mumbled under his breath, catching McGruder's arm with shaking hands, all protocol lost. "We've had a threat warning, sir. It's simulants."

Stood some distance away, Rimmer couldn't hear their hushed conversation. But one word carried across as the crowds that separated them echoed the word of the feared race, like a rising wave that gathered in panic and momentum until it thundered through Rimmer's being.

Oh no.

Chaos erupted. The inhabitants began to wail, shout and cry, fighting to snatch up belongings and stagger around aimlessly in a panic of where to hide. Rimmer simply stood, jostled from side to side as if caught in a storm of disarray. Most of them had never encountered simulants before. But the rumours and stories were clearly enough to instil fear and dread.

"No Ron, don't!"

"Just let me get hold of the bastard - !"

Rimmer turned back towards the familiar voices over the sea of cries, just in time to see a punch land hard on his right cheek. Caught off guard, Rimmer staggered back, tripped against an unseen person behind him and fell to the floor in a less than dignified heap.

"Ron!" Ellie cried, appalled.

"Don't you see?" Ron demanded in his deep, bellowing voice that slowed the panicked crowds to listen as they parted. "I keep your secret and how do you repay us? You holograms are nothing but trouble!" he snarled at Rimmer recoiling in shock on the deck. "You come here pretending to help us, but all you've done is brought this stupid simulant war of yours right onto our doorstep! You've sentenced us all to death!"

Rimmer felt sick. Not only at the accusation but also the dreaded realisation that it was partially true. The simulants _were_ there because of him.

He scrabbled to his feet, his hand held out in defensive protest as the people's faces turned to looks of shock and contempt. "N-no it's not my - " he jabbered. "I mean, I didn't - "

But this only seemed to anger Ron further. "Don't you _dare_ suggest this isn't your responsibility - " he drew back another fist but Ellie caught hold of him.

"Ron, I said no!" she sobbed angrily, tears now streaming freely down rosy cheeks.

McGruder broke through the crowd. "Stop it!" he ordered, taking a stand between Rimmer and Ron, a reproachful scowl fired at the latter. "We need to think and act fast to survive. What good will it do fighting between ourselves and seeking someone to blame?!"

"Then what the hell are we supposed to do?" Ron demanded, the fear and desperation creeping into the edges of his voice.

"What we've always practiced, that's what the drills were for," McGruder replied quickly before taking a steadying breath. "Right everyone!" he hollered out to the crowds gathered around them. "You know what to do. Take only the essentials, get down to the Fallout Zone and seal down the locks. Do _not_ release them until you hear my signal for the all clear, is that understood?" He swivelled back to face Rimmer, his voice unsteady. "Ace and I will take care of the simulants."

"But he's a hologram!" Ron cried. "You're risking your life with him over us?"

McGruder's face hardened. "It's not like that."

"Then why do you expect us to trust him?!"

"Because he's my father!" McGruder snapped suddenly.

Shocked silence descended across the crowds, leaving only the piercing wail of the alarm to sound its surprise. Ellie's eyes flitted back and forth between the men before her.

McGruder squared up to Ron, his features quivering as he fought to hold back an onslaught of words unsaid. "And I trust him with my life. My everything."

Ron stared back at him wordlessly for a moment before releasing a relenting sigh. "You heard what McGruder said!" he shouted across the crowd, drawing back. "Down to the Fallout Zone!"

Clearly shaken, McGruder watched as the crowds tore themselves away and followed Ron and Ellie as they herded them down to the bowels of the Colony; the only part of the space station that could hold off an attack or could afford its inhabitants an outside chance of survival should the worst happen.

But Rimmer seemed calm. There was something in McGruder's words that suddenly made everything click into place. He began to back off with slow yet meaningful steps. "That's why I have to face them alone," he said quietly with a resigned nod.

McGruder spun back to face him, aghast. "What? Why?" he spluttered.

To Rimmer, it was all now so very simple. The two people he'd ever dared to care for had sacrificed a part of themselves for him. Yvonne had raised their son alone; giving up her blossoming career with the Space Corps so that he wouldn't have to jeopardise his - no matter how misjudged and over-zealous his perception of his own career path had been. Nirvanah had given up her very existence simply to allow him to find the happiness she could see in his eyes he so desperately wanted.

And now his son, already having risked his own life on two occasions to save him, was defending his honour from the hostility around him. Even after he'd run away from the truth that bound them together.

Too many people. Too many sacrifices.

"Because you and your mother have already given me far too much," he explained evenly. "It's about time I paid my dues."

McGruder shook his head loosely. "You don't owe us anything," he pleaded.

Guilt wrenched at Rimmer's chest. He couldn't even look McGruder in the eye anymore. "Look after them, won't you," he started as glanced over his shoulder at the receding group, his chest shuddering at the forced change of tack. "They need you."

"But - "

"McGruder, you and I both know the simulants followed me here," he insisted in hushed tones. "They shouldn't even _be_ here in this dimension." Rimmer straightened. "It's my responsibility. If I brought them in," his jaw tightened, "I've got to take them out."

As Rimmer turned to leave, McGruder hurriedly caught his arm. A life-changing decision made in an instant. 

"Let me come with you."

"What?"

"Let me come with you," he repeated. "I'll travel with you, fight alongside you." Noticing the sadness that had begun to creep into Rimmer's gaze, McGruder sensed his reluctance and scrabbled for some shared moment of connection. "Remember b-back on that derelict?" he stammered. "We kicked some serious arse together."

Rimmer's eyes closed softly, pained. "McGruder - "

"We'd make such a great team, you know we would."

"I know."

McGruder's gaze retreated. "But you still won't let me come with you," he mumbled.

Rimmer released a breath that caught in his throat. "McGruder, I can't take you with me. It doesn't work like that. It can't."

Angry tears began to gather in the man's eyes. "Why not?"

"It just can't, okay?!" Rimmer fired back suddenly before dropping his voice. "It can't." 

Noticing the hurt painfully evident in McGruder's stare, he turned away, defeated. "Back there on that derelict, I was terrified I'd let you die on my watch," he recounted quietly. "Now I know who you are, it only makes it a hundred times worse." Rimmer bit back his lip. "If you died trying to help me, I'd never forgive myself."

McGruder blinked quickly, reeling back at the stark admission. He nodded, understanding.

"That's the thing about being Ace," Rimmer snorted bitterly. "Everyone thinks you're being brave, but it's all bullshit. You're just a guy with nothing to lose." He shook his head at the man stood before him, desperate to push him away for the sake of saving him. "I can't be Ace and be a father to you."

The square was abandoned now, the remnants of lost and abandoned belongings littering the deck. Lives scattered and afraid.

"Just this once can you do as I ask you?" Rimmer ventured quietly. "_Please._"

And in that one moment in time, McGruder knew what he had to do.

As much as it pained him to do so, he extended a hand. "Good luck," he offered, his voice barely a whisper.

Relieved, Rimmer seized it and pulled him in an embrace so close their foreheads pressed together, breathing in their last and only moment. Neither of them said a word. They didn't need to. Everything that needed to be conveyed had been done in that one final act.

Then just as suddenly as he'd pulled him in, Rimmer released him once more. He turned away to stride across the square and towards the Landing Bay, leaving McGruder to stand alone.

"Did I make you proud?"

Rimmer slowed and stopped before risking a final glance over his shoulder. McGruder looked almost embarrassed at having broken their silence.

"She always used to tell me that even though you weren't there, you'd always be proud of me," McGruder explained, as he blinked unsteadily. "I hope I've lived up to that."

A small chuckle spilled forth, unchecked, almost bemused to be asked. But then Rimmer realised why. He'd told Lister all those years ago that all he'd wanted from his own father was for him to say he was proud of him. Just once.

"You've made me infinitely proud," he replied.

McGruder released a shuddered sigh of relief. Content, he smiled distantly before turning away to follow the others down to the Fallout Zone.

Rimmer bit back painful tears as he watched him walk out of his life. "Infinitely proud," he echoed, in his own voice rather than Ace's.

************

Some say love makes you do crazy things. Others say becoming a father changes everything; awakening a fierce strength and protective instinct that can never be matched.

The unmistakable black form of the SS Orion waited in distant expectation before him, silent and still against the twinkling stars. Rimmer scowled as he gripped Wildfire's steering column so tightly it could snap. Their pursuit of him had always been vindictive and relentless; but now they'd followed him one step too far.

His comms link crackled into life with a voice he'd grown to detest.

"Mr Rimmer. I'd like to say this was a nice surprise, but I'm afraid I'd be lying through my teeth."

"Get the hell out of here, Pizzak," he spat. "You don't even belong in this dimension and you know it."

Glaring angrily at his scanner, Pizzak's grey eyes locked with the tiny white pulse blocking their path to the human colony beyond, as if it were an irritating dirty speck on the screen that he longed to flick away.

"You're in my way, Mr Rimmer," he replied tightly, his voice edged with distorted feedback. "So if you'd be so kind as to _shift your arse_," he drew in a cleansing breath to calm his rising temper that often had the nasty habit of flaring up into murderous rampages, "I can get on with my business of wiping your disgusting race off the face of this cosmos."

Rimmer ground his teeth. Far too often he'd treated Pizzak and his ragtail band of rogue simulants with a reluctant sense of lenient mercy. After all, as a human-created race they had as much right to exist as any other species in the universe. Such was the responsibility of impartiality that came with being Ace Rimmer. A freedom-fighting species in one dimension could be a slave-driving species in another. He simply had to restore order, keep the universe ticking over.

But backed into a corner like this, something deep inside Rimmer made a menacing shift.

"If you set one foot on that Colony," he threatened evenly, "I swear I'll kill every last one of you."

Pizzak was silent for a moment; presumably just as unnerved by the hologram's sudden, raw aggression as Rimmer was.

"If you try and stop me, I'll make you regret it," Pizzak replied darkly. "I'll make the entire cosmos realise what a useless, self-centred murderer you really are."

Pizzak's haunting words sent an icy shiver crawling up Rimmer's spine, as they both stepped into a new territory of mutual hatred. Although he could never have comprehended that Pizzak's threat could ever be realised in a dimension and moment in time far too close for comfort, he'd have still consented to his downfall for the sake of his son.

Rimmer pulled back hard on the steering column and Wildfire immediately blasted forth towards the Orion, wrenching him back into the leather folds of his pilot seat.

******

Pizzak staggered back as the pulsing white blip accelerated towards them at alarming speed. "M'Aiden!" he barked urgently to his fellow simulant sat at the helm. "Take him down!"

******

Red warning lights flashed and buzzed across the Wildfire's dashboard.

"Incoming fire! Two shots!" the computer wailed.

Clearly distracted, Rimmer's free fingers danced frantically across the keypad to his left, as he strained against the intense G-force. Dark eyes flitted back and forth between the keypad and the viewscreen. "Little bit busy at the moment - !" he hollered back in his old nasal voice over the deafening, high-pitched whine of the engines.

"Ace!"

"Oh, for the love of - "

As the twin pulses screamed towards them, Rimmer snapped back his hand and yanked the steering column to the right, sending Wildfire into a swift barrel roll that dodged their fatal trajectory and allowed them to streak past, unharmed.

"Any luck hacking into their Drive Systems?" he cried over the din.

As a series of bleeps signalled she had accessed their network, the computer's CPU quivered with horrible realisation. The riddle of how Pizzak and the simulants had managed to follow them from dimension to dimension for nine long years was now abundantly clear.

"I think I've done one better," she confirmed quietly.

******

The systems screen on the Orion suddenly flashed with green text error messages. M'Aiden quickly leant forward and punched ineffectually at the keyboard before him.

"Pizzak - " he mumbled nervously. "I think we have a problem, my friend." He swivelled in his chair to meet Pizzak's expectant glare. "Our Dimension Jump drive has been hacked. We've been locked out."

Metallic fingers curled back wordlessly into murderous fists.

******

The dark shadow of the SS Orion was growing rapidly in the glass viewscreen as Wildfire hurtled towards the simulant ship at kamikaze speed. In order for his plan to work, he had to make the jump dangerously close to thesimulant ship. An error margin of only a few seconds. But Rimmer didn't care.

For one single moment in time, Ace Rimmer was fighting to protect his family. And for one single moment in time, that made him the most dangerous man in the universe.

"I've programmed it in. You ready, computer?" he cried.

"Ace, the DJ drive isn't designed to carry two crafts at the same time," she clucked nervously. "There's a 67% chance we could burn up in non-space."

"I've had worse odds." Rimmer released a quivering breath. "Besides, I think we've all outstayed our welcome in this dimension. Prepare to jump."

******

M'Aiden's neon blue eyes widened in realisation as the systems screen began to reel, uninvited, with instruction code.

"Our Dimension Jump drives have been synchronised," he jabbered, glancing back to the scanner as the tiny white blip closed the gap. "I think he's going to - "

The entire ship whited out as with a creaking groan of distorting metal, the SS Orion was wrenched out of existence.

******

Wildfire's engines squealed white-hot, straining at maximum acceleration as they powered through non-space with the Orion in tow. Rimmer's grip on the steering column tightened, frantically struggling to hold their trajectory in place. The cockpit resounded with the panicked wails of emergency alarms and pulsing red lights, the entire ship juddering violently.

"Ace, the jump is becoming too unstable!"

Deep down, Rimmer was panicking. He was desperate to put as many dimensions between the simulants and the Colony as physically possible. But even he had to relent that he risked the two ships disintegrating as the DJ drive began failing to keep their entities held together in existence.

"Ace!"

Rimmer closed his eyes. Now or never.

"Disengage!" he yelled.

Rimmer was thrown back in his seat as the DJ link between the two ships was severed and the Orion fired free as if from a slingshot, blasting out of the unreality slipstream and into another dimension.

But Wildfire continued to wail, shuddering violently as it struggled to regain reality equilibrium.

"What's happening?!" Rimmer cried fearfully.

"Ace, I'm trying to lock on to the nearest valid dimension but I can't get us stable! I don't think - "

Wildfire lurched wildly, as if it had just crashed in a head-on collision into some unseen object. Thrown forward against the restraints of his safety harness, Rimmer tried to shield himself with his arms as he smashed head-first into the steering column. In a pulsing red flash, his vision blacked out with a crackle of static.

******

"NNNEEEEEEEOOOOOOWWW!" 

The small toy spaceship slowly arced through the bedroom, ably brought to life with the appropriate noises by a young boy in blue and white striped pyjamas.

"Ground Control, this is Commander Mikey!" the boy cried excitedly. "About to hit light speed!" The flaked red paint of the metal model winked in the lamp light as he raced across the room and leapt onto his bed. "WHOOSH!"

"Ahem."

The boy whipped his head back to the voice, where a tall figure stood watching him in the doorway, arms folded.

"Commander Mikey, this is Ground Control. I think it's supposed to be bedtime."

Michael pouted. "Oh but, _Dad - !_"

Rimmer shook his head as he strode slowly over to the bed, fighting back a grin that would undermine his authority in one moment. "Bedtime," he repeated emphatically.

With all the boundless energy typical of an eight-year-old, Michael bounced down to lie in the soft folds of the bed and reluctantly parked his spaceship in its usual hanger location by his bedside lamp. He snuggled into the warmth of his blanket as Rimmer began tucking him in.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

Michael cuddled the treasured teddy bear as it was handed to him. "Do you think that one day I can be a Test Pilot like Uncle John?"

Rimmer smoothed down the blanket and smiled. Michael was doing incredibly well at school, and seemed to have a fearless flair when it came to climbing trees and playing sports that he'd never had as a child. 

Rimmer was quite content with a desk job at the Space Corps Ground Control base on Io, working alongside Yvonne in the navigation and geo-mapping department. He didn't believe he'd have even reached _that_ level if she hadn't have tirelessly aided him with his revision during her pregnancy. With her tutoring and encouragement, he'd gained the pass mark in the Navigation Exam that he'd always so desperately coveted. Test Pilot posts were tough heights to reach.

He pinched Michael's nose playfully between his knuckles causing the boy to giggle ferociously. "I think you can do anything you want to, Mikey."

As Rimmer clicked off the lamp, he heard those words in the darkness. The words that had knocked him sideways when Yvonne had realised that he too had resigned from Red Dwarf to follow her to Miranda. But from his own son, they just made his heart melt.

"I love you."

Rimmer stooped down to land a kiss on Michael's forehead. "Love you too, son."

"Arnie?"

He turned away from the darkness of Michael's bedroom to see a woman stood silhouetted in the doorway against the stark light of the hallway. The overwhelming brightness blinding him with its brilliance.

"Ace - ?"

And with that name, Rimmer was wrenched back to reality.

******

" - you hear me? Ace?"

Rimmer reluctantly pulled open his eyes with a low groan.

The dashboard flickered chirpily with white lights. "Thank goodness you're alright," the computer gushed."We made it. We've emerged in Dimension 8423."

Hauling himself upright in the pilot seat, Rimmer blinked slowly as he took in the view through the glass. Nothing but eternal blackness.

"I closed the dimension skid as we left," the computer confirmed quietly, choosing not to reveal the precious drive that Pizzak and the simulants had in their possession.

"Mm - " he acknowledged, non-committal.

The computer's CPU heaved a silent sigh. "Listen, I know you're worried but you shouldn't be. As I told you before, the universe has a natural order for these things. A skid will open in another part of the sector and continue to keep the humans on the Colony safe for many generations to come." 

The mainframe paused as she noticed his silence. "Ace?"

However, Rimmer was no longer listening. He couldn't tear his thoughts away from the man he had left behind. Obsessing whether he'd been right to choose this life over staying with McGruder. His own son.

If the universe's natural order had brought them together, his commitment as Ace had torn them apart once more.

He was, in a word, _distracted_.

Which was probably the main reason why, in less than three weeks time, he would make the biggest mistake of his life. A mistake that would result in the deaths of one-thousand, three-hundred and thirty-two innocent people.

Pizzak was right. He would regret it.


End file.
